


onism and all that comes with it

by 2000loverboy



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Angst and Feels, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Art Student Do Kyungsoo | D.O, Bad Decisions, Comfort/Angst, Denial of Feelings, Drug Addiction, EXO - Freeform, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Implied/Referenced Drug Addiction, KaiSoo - Freeform, M/M, Minor Byun Baekhyun/Park Chanyeol, Minor Jung Soojung | Krystal/Kim Jongin | Kai, OT9 (EXO), Out of Character, Photography, References to Depression, References to Drugs, Slow Burn, Strained Friendships, Unhealthy Relationships, Very long, kai is selfish, kyungsoo sucks at communicating
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-31
Updated: 2021-01-04
Packaged: 2021-03-10 17:54:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 31,525
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28451241
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/2000loverboy/pseuds/2000loverboy
Summary: That sudden dreadful realization that you are you, and only you, and stuck in your body. You're not omniscient and the universe is filled with other people just like that--you still can't live their lives and they can't live yours.Do Kyungsoo is a photographer in Paris looking for purpose, and he stumbles upon more than he bargained for.
Relationships: Do Kyungsoo | D.O/Kim Jongin | Kai, Do Kyungsoo | D.O/Park Chanyeol, Jung Soojung | Krystal/Kim Jongin | Kai
Kudos: 7





	1. Life in the Opposite Window

**Paris, France. February 12'th, 2020**

Across the room, Jongin hollows his cheeks over a cigarette. His features pull taunt under the setting sunlight and smoke flutters lifelessly from the stick dancing between his lips, "The sunset looks beautiful, you should come look." He says.

The expanse between them is tinctured with strokes of orange, red, and yellow. Kyungsoo glances up for only a moment, quickly raising his camera to snap Jongin peering outside. The other isn't startled in the slightest by this and merely huffs more gray into the air.

"No really, you're going to miss it. Stop looking through the lens for one second."

Kyungsoo begins to press through the pictures on the screen, observing how saturated the warm light is over the ridges and angles of Jongin's face and draped tunic. He finally caves when the other beckons with fond exasperation, adding to the abstraction of the skyline, neatly built with sculpture and layers of shaded metropolis. As a reflex, he takes the cigarette out from Jongin's mouth and presses it against his own in a kiss of death.

"I've seen plenty of sunsets. I've lived here just as long as you, remember?"

Smoke obscures his view for a moment, and Jongin lets out a dry chuckle, "This one is special. You ever heard of living in the moment?"

"Heard of it."

The model reaches for the cigarette again, even though it's only been a moment without it pumping nicotine into his lungs. Ever the fiend, he smiles, "Funny. Maybe you should quit photography and become a comedian instead. Branch out a little."

Kyungsoo doesn't say anything to that, and merely scans his eyes over the filter cast across the world in its last wakeful moments. It's as if the earth were shutting its eyes ever so slowly, drifting into black sleep. A few stars are peeking out through the color and Jongin points a finger towards the sky, "You really should be taking pictures of this instead of me. This is amazing."

"The sky doesn't photograph well." He says. His hands itch to take more pictures before this golden hour slips away, but Jongin seems a little lethargic under the gaze of his lens tonight.

"Doesn't that just mean your camera is low quality?"

"Since when did you know anything about cameras?" Kyungsoo teases with a tilt to his voice, nudging the taller with his shoulder. Jongin keeps his skin pressed into his side as Kyungsoo goes on, "The camera I brought is a cheaper one. It's super grainy and doesn't pick up details so It's more of an aesthetic thing." He explains.

"I see." Jongin sighs out more vapor, and it fades into the Paris breeze along with his words. "I think I just pick up things you say here and there. I don't really know anything about cameras. Or photography."

The sun begins to hide behind one of the high rise buildings, one with old statues carved into the sides. It's smoothed over in glossy white marble and golden rims, ancient and blatantly European. Kyungsoo hums, "I mean, there are things you can learn with cameras. But photography is just subjective, like all art. Eye of the beholder kind of thing. There's not much to know."

Jongin pulls a face and ashes the cigarette over the whitewood. It was getting darker by the second. He still has a smile, "Let me take one of you."

"That's the first time you've asked instead of just grabbing it and taking it."

"I'm full of surprises." The boy leans to entangle the camera cord from around his neck and slot it over his own. Kyungsoo is almost positive the camera can't pick up the portrait Jongin's looking for, if anything it would be a mere silhouette against the backdrop of the wall, but the model holds it up to his eye regardless and hovers over the button.

"Pose."

Kyungsoo stills, face contorting into an awkward grimace of sorts, "How?"

"Do what you usually do. Hurry."

He pushes back his bangs and shoots a timid grin at the center of the glass, as a click goes off softly, both immediately huddle to watch it develop onto the screen. The shot is heavily shadowed, enveloped in midnight cadence as the curvatures of his face curl and bleed into darkness, Kyungsoo shakes his head and laughs, "I look a hundred years older. That is not a good picture of me."

Jongin fakes a look of offense and holds away the device as it's grabbed for, "I like it! When you print these you have to give me this one, okay? I genuinely like it."

"You're such a liar. That is obviously blackmail." Kyungsoo's eyebrows furrow with his usual seriousness. The seriousness that hardly ever phases Jongin.

"No. Those nude pictures you have of me from after the gala is black mail. This is just a cute picture of a friend." Jongin responds airily, he gives the camera back and pretends not to notice when Kyungsoo flushes rose-tinted in the dimness.

"They weren't nude. They were half nude. And frankly, those pictures never saw the light of day."

"True." Jongin smells like smoke, and he's hardly visible as he slinks across the room to flicker on a lamp. It's suddenly brighter, and everything looks a bit harsher behind the thin fabric and dangling beads. "I still have them somewhere. Probably buried under all my French books. Did you know I'm trying to learn more French?"

Kyungsoo has heard this before, but shrugs and chooses to rest his back against the window pane. The cool air feels refreshing over his exposed skin, and it comes up to ruffle at the back of his hair like a small embrace. "Practice on me." He offers.

Jongin begins to aimlessly wander about the room, adjusting things and wiping invisible dust off the armchair, his eyes are upwards in thought. Kyungsoo can see them clearly now in all their half-mooned glory, the color of pressed coffee and chocolate; Two things they both developed appetites for since they breathed in the Paris air all those years ago.

The model finally stops and rests on the edge of his leathery seat, "Hmmm, lets see. Bonjour, ou est l'arret de bus?"

Kyungsoo thinks for a moment, then clicks his tongue, "Descendre deux blocs." He says.

"Um, gauche ou droite?"

"Je pense que c'est derriere toi." He answers, smirking when he sees Jongin freeze up. "Know what that means?"

"You said...'I think' and then something else. Was I correct?" Jongin's expression sparks up into a blinding simper, feet bending over the the side of the couch. It makes his legs look too long, contrasting in the elegance they carry over the runway or in a photoshoot.

Kyungsoo never can say no, and with a breath and a roll of his eyes he mutters, "I said: I think it's behind you. Since you asked for directions to the bus stop."

"How do you remember French so well? It's nothing like Korean. You sound fluent too."

"Practice. I don't like when people talk to me like I don't know anything. I also thought it would help me with school. Which it does."

Jongin lays completely down, neck crooking on the other end of the loveseat. He ogles Kyungsoo curiously, like always. Like Kyungsoo preaches gospel with every word. It always makes Kyungsoo feel like he's on a stage.

"I get by with pretty bad French, but I want to get better. You would be my teacher, right?" He laughs freely, "That would be fun. You'd help me out, like you always do."

"Like I always do." Kyungsoo echoes dully. He chooses to peer outside the window again, over the rooftops and beige paneling. It's so dark.

_______

**2 years earlier**

It was the insignificant things. The idle tasks and distractions that kept him busy and rendered him mindless through the seconds, minutes, hours, days, months. It was the ringing of church on Sunday mornings, or the goodbyes of migratory birds flying overhead in winter. It was what they possessed: routine and comfortability for the mundane person. For Kyungsoo, it's what he required. He looked through the glass, observed those strolling down the sidewalk and dallying at the fleeting stoplights, he listened to the sirens flying by. It was about the boy himself, which, all in all, was a lesson in emptiness.

This is how he recalled his life in the city of Paris. Along with the melancholy afternoons in the public square, where strangers would stand with him in the collected despondency, exchanging moments of business and voidless banter, time escaping by with no care or value. It was isolating, but invigorating, for him to stand here. Here in France, specifically at art college, collecting bits and pieces of his reality and printing them out into touchable concepts.

He stayed with distant roommates: two fair gentlemen that dealt with him through the clutter and occurrences of sleepless wandering; Fretting him every morning with stiff grins and darting looks as if he was a ghost haunting the premise instead of their living partner. Strange, but again, not shocking, considering it all. They didn't speak Korean, but they all got by on limited French and English, usually only conversing when necessary, or when they wanted to peek over his shoulder at his collection of new photographs. In a melancholy way, their presence lied almost non-existent, and Kyungsoo lived an eternal life of solitude, placed in the city of love.

Kyungsoo found his muses in the influx of people, of jovial mirth and candid normalcy. In the romantic architecture and statuette depictions of faith, hope and humility that could only be immortalized by the French. A camera was always loose around his shoulders like an extension of his body, as crucial as lungs or a heart, or in his own words, another eye. Which is why he was here, it had to be why he was here, studying abroad and scaling the world of photography all by himself.

The photographer saw him for the first time on a sweltering summer morning, where the sun rose high and hot in the sky, clearing all the clouds from sight, as the foliage browned from the heat, and his skin bloomed crimson like a ripe plum in the Rue Mouffetard market. A white shirt was loose and buttoned low to let in the rare, gracious breeze that rolled through, as he was on the floor of his room with a book in hand. A rare day off.

He saw him when a particularly strong gust of wind shook the wooden blinds, fate beckoning him forth to savor the temporary coolness at the window. As he leaned outward into the humid radiance, he had a perfect view of the space across from him. It was a modest sized opening, framed with baby blue curtains that swayed left and right and up and down like a dance. Which, in time, would be ingrained into his head to the extent where he would see them with his eyes closed. The lanky stranger walked straight to the aperture and put out the butt of a cigarette, and just like that, his eyes had darted up and out of view. Kyungsoo finally remembered one of his neighbors.

Jongin was a lot of things, but he started out as an essence. A mirage of sorts, that Kyungsoo could only see at odd hours of the day in passing. He was tall, tanned and slenderly built in all his curtained garbs and coifed brunette hair. He was merely a stranger that lived across the way, mirroring Kyungsoo through a square hole, hardly close enough to see. Impossible to touch.

"You got some free time then? What are you going to do with your day?" Chanyeol, his closest friend overseas, inquired over the phone, "It's late here. Eight hours later to be exact."

Kyungsoo was reclining in the wooden chair next to his bed, picking at something imaginary that resided on the pale of his skin, "There's this cheap coffee shop down the road i go to on my breaks, now. It's called Tasse d'amour un cafe, I'll probably go there. What about you?"

"I'm gonna sleep. I was up working on some music, I'll send it to you when I'm done tuning it. When can I visit you Kyungsoo-yah~?"

It had been awhile since he heard Korean honorifics, and he smiled into the receiver, "Soon. Come soon. You'd like the coffee here."

A chuckle on the other line, "Promise?"

Kyungsoo wasn't sure which thing he was promising, "Yes. Now sleep, okay?"

"Yeah yeah, goodnight. Don't party too hard without me!"

"Shut up. Goodnight."

"I love you." Chanyeol said.

"I love you too." He hung up, and made his way out the door into the city streets.

The cafe was only a block away in its vintage stature, shaded by awnings and a cursive menu plastered onto the entrance window, it even had a tiny little statue of a chef under the rows of wildflowers that sat on the planks. Quaint, in the way that made it so lovely in its simplicity. As he walked in, the door gave off a light ring and one of the baristas behind the bar perked up at the sound. It was unsurprisingly empty.

"I'll just have an iced coffee." He told the worker with accented English. They nodded, taking his cash with nimble fingers and working the register. He got nothing back, and with a breath he wandered aimlessly to one of the booth seats to sit. Light jazz was playing from the speakers, soft and muffled by the sound of traffic pouring in from outside, and It was comforting to him, domestic—in a way that made him a bit homesick. Or in a way where he wished he could share this with someone like Chanyeol, who was asleep by now across the world.

His coffee was delivered, and he drank it in disquiet. The world everychanging and everlasting in perpetual loneliness.

"I guess I just really don't understand your idea behind this one." His professor said one morning, perched behind his desk and shuffling through Kyungsoo's new project idea. He held the photo up, a monochrome scene of the window across from his own. Vacant, other than the glimpse of curtains peeking behind the layered brick. The wrinkles around his mouth furrowed, "Its boring, symmetrical, blunt. You're usually much more abstract than this, Kyungsoo. I understand some projects can be a little challenging, but I expected more than this. What is the name of it?"

Kyungsoo watched him set the image down, the sensation of his heart sinking overthrowing his usual anxiousness of speaking English, "It's called Life In The Opposite Window." he said.

"I see. I don't really see any life at all behind this window. It's empty, and the lack of color only makes it more difficult to comprehend. What's your reasoning for this?"

"Well, to me the ambiguity is the reason for the piece." He swallowed, "W-We don't really know what other people's lives are like, and even if we have a way to look inside it doesn't truly show the reality. One window isn't enough to see what goes on in someone else's life. It's just one angle. One eye that peers in, blind to the majority of the story. That's why it's indecipherable."

His professor smirked then, the energy from before dispatched into the air and replaced with something more intentional. He laced his fingers and leaned back, blinking at Kyungsoo as he stood stiffly at the edge, "That sounds more like you. Now let me ask, do you know the person who lives here? Anything about them?" He asked.

"He smokes."

Before he was able to explain, his teacher leaned down and whispered, "Kyungsoo, you have months left to nail this. How do you plan to end this project? This is your dead end final, okay?"

He thought for a moment, "I guess...my goal is to show the life behind that window in four pictures."

"Only four? You think you can achieve a full affect with only four pictures? Other students are doing up to six, normally."

"This is my concept. I guess it's just more personal." Kyungsoo replied tersely.

"Well," his teacher passed the folder back, still smiling with hidden meaning, "Thank you for showing me your first photograph of the series. I look forward to seeing how different your concept will be. Especially comparing your first picture to your last."

Kyungsoo took it with uncertain fingers, feeling a little uneasy in the presence of the other. He sent off a wave, "Thank you. I look forward to it as well."

He saw him again at night; A night Kyungsoo brought home some marketplace plants to decorate his banister with. It wasn't like he had much money to spare, but it would liven up the place a little; Subtle greenery for the eggshell walls and peeling paint that closed in on him like a cage.

His neighbor was smoking with his elbows forward and imbedded on the flatland, as he dangled the cigarette in the air. Kyungsoo accidentally made eye contact setting up the small pots across his own plank, shooting him a polite smile out of courtesy. It was returned handsomely, and the other had the courage to gleam his teeth and show a dimple. The image was terrifyingly perfect.

"Evening." The smoker greeted, voice raised due to the yard of distance between them. Kyungsoo could hear a bit of a nasally accent to his words as if the language was foreign to him.

"Good evening." He spun his magnolias so that they faced inside instead of outside. The stranger kept watch, bringing the stoge up to his plush lips and sucking as the sun began to dip behind the apartment complex. It was dimmer now but not unpleasantly so.

"Those are beautiful."

Kyungsoo perked up from behind the blossoms, eyebrows raising in badly concealed surprise. "I just got them today. They're magnolias. I have some other kinds of flowers too." He chuckled.

Even in the lack of lighting, he could see the stranger's handsome features contort in mild confusion, as he exhaled silver ribbons and smiled, "They are...new?"

"Yes." Kyungsoo squinted, then in a strange bout of bravery, switched overly smoothly to Korean, "Do you speak Korean by any chance?" He questioned.

The others face lit up as he nearly dropped the cigarette floors down in excitement, and Kyungsoo could see his black eyes twinkle from afar in the effulgence, "I do! How did you know? I haven't met anyone else who speaks Korean here!"

"I'm Korean too. Maybe I can just tell." He replied calmly, still having to shout a bit. The smile was contagious and he found himself copying it subconsciously, "I haven't met anyone else either. What are the odds we would be neighbors?" He added with another chuckle.

The other laughed out smoke. It was a stark sound and a bit of a contrast to his physicality, which was the definition of refined and ethereal beauty. The untouchable kind. It made him more human in that moment. As the cigarette was fiddled with over the small terrace, ash fell in tiny embers down, down, down.

"It's a miracle I finally have someone else to talk to." He finally said after observing Kyungsoo's expression for awhile, "I'm Kim Jongin."

"I'm Do Kyungsoo." His fingers twitched at the urge to take a picture of the other, placated so gorgeously in the dissipating daylight. It seemed like a waste if the moment wasn't caught. "It is a miracle."

_________

It was a strange thing, to befriend someone who was a phantom for so long. Someone who was only a face, a long silk shirt, and a cigarette filter pressed into the stained lumber. Kim Jongin was finally a living, breathing person. And he was there, standing upright in Kyungsoo's room, only days after their first conversation, like they were magnets.

"So, you're a photographer." He said, phrasing it less like a question and more of a statement. Jongin was staring him at all the hanging frames in his room, containing personal memories and stolen moments in time, sounding intrigued, he gestured to one of Chanyeol, "Who is this tall guy? You have a lot of him."

Kyungsoo was preoccupied with the notion of having a guest for the first time in, well, since he moved, really. He glanced up to see what Jongin was talking about, continuing to kick away the random debris and clothes he had laying around. 

"That's my best friend. His name is Chanyeol. He's living in Korea." 

"He reminds me of home."

Kyungsoo hesitated at his words, but then nodded. "Me too." 

At that, he finally deemed the space clean enough and brought over the low corner table he had stored away and stacked with books. Jongin quirked an eyebrow as Kyungsoo added two pillows to the opposite sides, to create a little dining area.

"Is this okay?"

Jongin nodded, looking sincerely pleased as he sat on one of the pillows and watched Kyungsoo walk towards the door, "It's cute. I take it the dining room is off limits?" He asked jokingly.

"More privacy this way." Kyungsoo lied. Failing to mention that him and his roommates were in no way close, and encountering them was too awkward for Kyungsoo's poor self. "I'll be right back. I'll go get some snacks."

"I'm being spoiled."

When Kyungsoo returned with a plate of bread, olive oil and steaming coffee, Jongin immediately rose up to help him.

"I got it." The shorter replied quickly, shooing him a bit too casually and setting it on the shallow table with a rattling finish. Jongin obeyed, eyes wide as he stared at what was prepared.

"This is really nice. You didn't have to do all this. I kind of just wanted to see what your condo looked like compared to mine."

"I wanted to." Kyungsoo said as he took his spot across from the other and adjusted the bread basket. "I'm just being a good host, and you're welcome to look around."

"That's an understatement. If you went to my place I'd only be able to offer shitty wine and hard pasta." Jongin chuckled and took no time grabbing a piece and dabbing it in the oil. "My girlfriend, she can kind of cook. Usually we just eat out though, which is why we're so damn poor."

Kyungsoo began to eat as well, "Well, that's still cool. I only cook when I have time, or for special occasions. I'm better at cooking Korean food but I think I'm getting better at reading English recipes." He eyed Jongin as he engulfed the whole piece into his mouth, "Do you only live with her? Or are there others?"

He wiped the corners of his mouth, "It's just us. Her name is SooJung. She's a big time social media influencer and ambassador for this French brand, which is why we got to move here. Plus, we both like to travel." Kyungsoo handed him a napkin as he went on, "Were both in the same profession and we can hook eachother up so it works out. Fashion is a huge industry here."

"So, you're both successful models?" Kyungsoo made a face and enclosed his hand over the hot mug to take a sip, "Must be nice to be the coolest couple in France." He added with a soft smile.

The latter threw his head back and guffawed, "Not even. We just starve and walk around art museums. Nothing is as cool as being a photographer, anyway."

"Being an artist always seems cool in theory but it's hard being pretentious." Kyungsoo joked, smiling when Jongin laughed again. He dipped another piece of bread, "Kidding. But it's only fun when there's less rules involved, commissions and school work can take the magic out of it sometimes. Unless you find a muse, and all of that stops mattering because you have a drive."

"What's your muse? Chanyeol?"

"Maybe...at one point." He muttered, stuffing the oily sponge into his mouth. "Not anymore, though. Muses change when you change. I haven't seen him in a long time."

"How long have you lived here?" Jongin finally drank his coffee, making a face at the bitterness. Maybe Kyungsoo should have poured more milk.

"About, a year? Which isn't super long or committal, but, it feels so different from Korea that it might as well have been like five years." Kyungsoo pressed his lips into a line, losing his appetite at the thought of home. "I miss it a lot, since it can be lonely traveling to a new place."

"That's how i felt too. If I didn't have SooJung I would be struggling a lot more. Do you regret moving here?" Jongin asked solemnly.

Kyungsoo had to stop and think, "No. I'm just adjusting. Finding my footing. I have to get used to my college."

Jongin had a genuine, gentle look over his features as he suddenly reached over to pat Kyungsoo's exposed knuckles. There was something vulnerable in his eyes, "It's brave to welcome change, even when it's scary and the outcome is always uncertain. Young, artistic people always a find a way to survive though, so I know you will too." He said the last part with a smirk, retreating his hand like nothing happened.

"It's strange." Kyungsoo mumbled.

"What is?"

"Talking in Korean with someone who isn't over the phone."

Jongin's smile widened, "How do you think I felt? When you sprung that on me a day ago as you were setting up those flowers?"

"Well, I assume you felt impressed, since you're hanging out with me now." Kyungsoo teased shyly, choosing to stare at the array of food instead of the model in front of him. "I'm just joking."

"I mean, it's not a joke when it's true." Jongin shrugged and continued to eat a bigger piece every time he reached downward, "You should come over and hang with me and SooJung sometime. As repayment for feeding me and being a good host."

"You don't have to do that."

"You can take our pictures and stuff, if you want. We can help eachother out." Jongin giggled at his expression, mouth full, "We could all use some friends and advice in this trying time. Foreigners need to stick together, after all."

"Cheesy. But, I accept your offer." He agreed, trying his best to look collected despite the thumping in his rib cage. "This feels like charity work on your part, though."

"Nah. We'll use our huge, powerful model status to have you cook meals for us sometimes. Sound equal now?" The other held out a pinkie, beaming patiently.

Kyungsoo interlocked his own with the bronzed, smoothed finger, angling them into a promise, he nodded, "Equal."

As they touched, Jongin finally began to unravel into someone real. Far too real.

\----------

When Kyungsoo met Soojung, it was an exchange of volatile glances and surface level banter. She was a lot different from Jongin, in ways of conversation and aura, where his was the color of summer champagne—hers was a dark, sultry red. She was also very similar to him, in the way where they dressed and liked the same kind of expensive art. They shared music records, jackets and brief kisses when Kyungsoo was presumably not looking. In his eyes, she was unattainable and subtle in her flaws, like a tragic painting of a lover.

"I heard about you." She said as Kyungsoo came through their doorway. He was let in by Jongin, who was smoking inside. At the time, he wondered if they smoked together or if that was only one of Jongin's burdensome habits. He came to find out that Jongin had a numerous amount of those.

"Oh?" He had uttered lamely, letting Jongin hang up his coat in a uncharacteristic act of formality.

Wearing berry colored lipstick, she smiled a smile that didn't quite reach her hooded eyes, "You've taken pictures for some underground clothing brands in Korea. And I saw you in some Zines too. I remember hearing your name from colleagues, so It's nice to finally meet you, and not during work hours."

"It's nice to meet you, too. Thank you. That's very kind of you to say." He said honestly.

"You've taken pictures for Korean magazines?" Jongin echoed, eyes blown wide and mouth agape as he looked back and forth. "Kyungsoo, why did you never tell me?"

"I didn't think it mattered."

Jongin joined Soojung on the couch as smoke fumed towards the high-rise ceiling, "You're too humble. You made it sound like you were just a struggling college student!"

Kyungsoo shrugged, "I am."

"People can be more than one thing." Soojung lectured softly, aiming a real smile at Jongin. Kyungsoo suddenly felt like he was interrupting something. She faced him again, "Do you want some food or anything? Wine? I should call you oppa, right? Or am I your noona?"

"Um, you don't have to use honorifics. And it's fine." Kyungsoo felt his face bloom hot. It was unlike him to dismiss that form of respect, but it felt so strange at the same time. "But, I think I'm older than both of you. I'm twenty two, if that matters."

"Hyung." Jongin piped up first. He whirled his head around to front him, body half covered by the long headrest. "You're my Hyung then. Im a year younger."

"And I was right, you're my Oppa." Krystal then laughed, it was a small sound, "You look really young for your age. You could be around sixteen."

He looked down meekly as they giggled amongst themselves, "I get that a lot."

"It's a good thing. You'll age slower, and when you're actually old you'll still look young." Jongin explained, waving his hands around in emphasis. "Plus, being hot fades. Being cute lasts forever."

Soojung slapped his arm playfully, "You sound like the agency. Let the man live."

Kyungsoo just chuckled, standing in place as the couple settled into a comfortable banter. His first picture of Soojung was with Jongin next to her, and it was of that moment—with them on the couch. Crescent eyes and white smiles, arms around shoulders. The flash was so mundane to them, they didn't even turn when he clicked the button. It was a photo that would later come to have the most complexity.

______

"So, your neighbors are Korean and also just happen to be famous models?" Chanyeol questioned as his pixelated face came up fuzzy over the laptop screen. Kyungsoo nodded, legs crossed as he sat on his mattress and opened another tab to type something in. K-I-M J-O-N-G-I-N.

"Yeah. I know it sounds crazy." He clicked search.

A million pictures come up, most of them headshots or variations of photo shoots. Usually with the typical earth tones and golden jewelry, or him posing nearly clad over a vehicle holding perfume. Jongin had a debauched look over his features a lot of the time, and it made his throat a little dry as he scrolled, "I just looked him up. So you know he's not lying."

Chanyeol's camera loaded finally, revealing the giant with gawky headphones and a hoodie. He took up the whole corner of the screen, but Kyungsoo could still hardly focus on his friend, "I mean, that's cool though. You guys can relate to eachother and bond over similar cultural experiences. What's his name again? Kim Jungkook?"

"Kim Jongin. I guess he has a model alias though, he's known as Kai here."

"Kai." Chanyeol reiterated in his deep timbre, "Is he stuck up? Remember that one model you photographed that was—"

"He's not stuck up. He's cool, and so is his girlfriend. I don't want to mess this up with them." As he aimed the mouse downward, more articles appeared. Kai had a lot of scandals.

"You won't mess anything up. You said they like you and invited you over, they let you take their pictures. What will you mess up?"

"I don't know. I'm just ranting." He caught himself and quickly backspaced to type in Soojung's name.

"Anyways, how's your music coming along?"

"Good. My new mixtape is almost done, I've been working my ass off. I showed Baekhyun and he said he really liked it so, you know, that's promising." Chanyeol said.

"Yeah, he's an idiot but he knows good music when he hears it." The screen flickered to a new page, this time it was littered with Soojung's face and poses. Her full name was Krystal Soojung, which explained why she was able to fit in France so well. She knew English.

Chanyeol boomed out a laugh, "True. Him and Taeyeon are doing well, I don't know if he told you. There's rumors of engagement but Baekhyun is kind of free spirited so I don't know if that's even true."

Kyungsoo scrolled, "We haven't been in touch recently, but that's good to hear. He deserves to be happy after that last breakup. Marriage sounds a little far-fetched though..."

"That's what I said, but you never know. As long as he's happy." There was a silence, all too familiar. Chanyeol then asked, "Are you happy?"

Kyungsoo finally glanced at Chanyeol through the webcam, "Huh? Yeah. Why?" His voice sounded small.

"Nothing. You seem better. Happier." The latter seemed distracted, like he was looking somewhere else. "Meeting those neighbors seemed to spark you up. I'm glad. I missed seeing you like that, Soo."

That caught him off guard, and he exited to make the FaceTime full screen, "I missed it too." He replied quietly. "Where is this coming from?"

Chanyeol let out a forced laugh, "Can't I just care about you? Why do you assume otherwise?"

"I don't know."

"I wish you were here."

"Come visit soon." Kyungsoo began to feel warm. "You can meet them too."

"Fine. But you have to take me to that cafe first, okay?" The atmosphere was lighter now, and they exchanged amused looks through the screens. "And, I don't want these cool ass motherfuckers to take my spot as best friend, either."

Kyungsoo couldn't hold back a chortle at that, "Got it. Cafe, no replacements. Anything else?"

"And, I love you."

He rolled his eyes, ignorant, "Love you too."

______

The first time he took Jongin's picture outside the apartment, they were in front of the complex on the stone stairwell. He was smoking like it was his trademark.

"Can't you edit the cigarette out?" Jongin had complained after Kyungsoo showed him the result, his face in 2D still looking studious.

"Why would I? Isn't that altering reality? The reality is that you smoke." He pointed to where he wanted the model to sit back down, "You smoke a lot, in fact."

"My agency keeps that a secret." Jongin plotted himself down reluctantly, moodiness only adding more to the industrial visualization, devoid of any warmth. The sky was overcast like he controlled it with his broody glare. Kyungsoo motioned for him to inch right, "I don't know how they do it. You smell like smoke every day."

Jongin smirked when Kyungsoo clicked the camera, "That's half a lie. I smell like sponsored perfume, too." He said cockily.

"Don't smile." Kyungsoo ordered, even though he purposely pressed in time. Both of them, modern hypocrites. Jongin kept his face stern, then, a little too easily.

Frequent guests, the two models became. Dazzling, shimmering in the light as if they could never be tainted, as if no corruption touched their colored lips and their fingers were wiped of any and all scandalous blood. Kyungsoo had been starstruck by them, shaken to his very core and increasingly curious behind his camera lens. Braver, that way, as if direct contact would freeze him in time forever.

They had become the faces on his walls, the faces in his SD card, and the faces he saw under the skin of his eyelids before restless slumber.

"How cliche." Chanyeol had laughed at him. "A photographer inspired by two models. Never heard of THAT before."

"They're mysterious."

"Mysterious? They're just people, Soo."

His best friend told him time and time again, and he tried to understand it well, pounded into his heart and brain, conceiving nothing but a rationalization of the insanity he was bestowing upon himself then. Seasons in the future, while Kyungsoo ripped and tore their gazes from his walls, he had finally understood Chanyeol's plea.

For they were all crooks, tried and true in their methodology in finding ways to further bolster their greed and selfishness. To coin those at the bottom into lower debts, in the way an unhappy person does. Was he any better?

As he held down the zoom on his camera aiming in on Jongin's dilated pupils, he wasn't sure anymore.

One morning Kyungsoo witnessed an event at the window across from him, a moment he couldn't quite comprehend. It was his routine to view the couple from across the way during odd hours of the week, trading smiles and waves and occasionally a subdued conversation through the empty space, but, this time it was nothing of the sort. It was as if he was looking through a portal into an alternate reality; The window forevermore less of a pinhole and more of maze.

They were fighting. Jongin and Soojung. He could hear the voices from his bedside, and they only got louder as he got up to water his terrace garden, their Korean was slurred, messy and he could only pick up a few literate words from his distance away. In misplaced nosiness, he peeked his head over the bush and glowered through the open window, and wished the curtains had been closed for once.

It was Soojung, eyes puffy and red, nothing short of a monster, tossing a large bottle out of the window. Kyungsoo flinched on Instinct, hearing the sharp sound of glass shattering over brick, then the ringing of alottment falling down the side of the building in a million pieces. When he came back up in slow fear, she was gone, and shards were strewn in his marigolds.

______

"This is my favorite one." Jongin traced his finger down the lines of the old portrait. It was of an older woman, a woman Kyungsoo met when he got off on the wrong bus and ended up in the rural countryside. She had a bonnet and the wrinkled skin that came with hard work and sun. "She looks like she has a million stories to tell. Of course, if you knew French." He said.

"That woman helped me get back home despite the language barrier. My French wasn't even half as good back then, either. I don't know how I managed." Kyungsoo added fondly, looking over the model's shoulder as he flipped through the album. "We don't have to look at this, if it's boring you."

Jongin scoffed and turned the page, eyes studying intensely like they always do. He pointed to one of a couple sitting on a bench, "Look. Paris romance."

It came out strained, and Kyungsoo raised a brow at him, "This was when I was new in town, so a lot of these older shots are super cliche. If you want better ones—"

"The shot is good. I like it."

Kyungsoo stayed quiet, choosing to just let the other boy flitter through the pages. It was vulnerable, but intimate, the way they curled into one another in easy silence. It was unlike Jongin though, to stay so still and hardly say a word to him. The flashback of Soojung flashed behind his eyes, but he willed it away.

Jongin finally spoke, "You say these are lame but there's something raw about the way you just took pictures of random things. Cheesy symbolism and all. It's very free."

Kyungsoo blinked down at Jongin's hands as they were dancing along the pages. Pirouette, twirl, land. "Thank you." He hummed.

Jongin turned to face him and Kyungsoo backed away, sensing a bit of fullness behind the other's gaze. The model's arms suddenly danced up his arm, to his shoulder, to his neck. It stopped. He swiped the camera strap from around Kyungsoo's neck and wrapped it across his own, and the shorter could only gape as Jongin held it up and took a picture point-blank of his face.

"Jongin!" He scolded, immediately grabbing for it. The latter just crowed and reclined back to keep it away, using his long limbs to his advantage like a schoolyard bully. Kyungsoo could feel his face flush an embarrassing shade of tomato red as he finally leaned away to let Jongin triumph in his childish victory. He had never seen the model look so gleeful in his life.

"You look so cute, Hyung."

Kyungsoo refused to glance, even when a laughing Jongin shoved the camera screen under his nose. He pushed the other away, "God. That was so elementary school."

Jongin tried again, sulking to prove his point, "Just look! You look adorable!"

"No."

"When you print these out, you have to let me have this one."

"What makes you think I'm printing that out?"

Jongin was glowing, "I'll pay you for it."

Kyungsoo faked interest, "How much?"

"Um, twenty bucks."

"Hmmm," He pointed his eyes up in a mock gesture of thinking, "No."

Jongin pouted, but his happiness was evident. He handed the camera back, "I'll let you get me back as revenge." He offered.

"Are you sure? I'm a photographer so I know all the worst angles." Kyungsoo finally smirked and got the camera ready.

Jongin still remained pleased despite the threat, "Well, I'm a model, so how many bad angles can I have?" He rebutted.

"Cocky bastard." Kyungsoo got into position, pushing Jongin back so he could stand over him and get an aerial view of the model's forehead. Once he got the biggest, most bulbous angle he could manage—he clicked the flash. Jongin was calm, even when Kyungsoo jumped down excitedly to reveal the ultimate blackmail shot.

To which— Jongin immediately fell back laughing, which wasn't the reaction Kyungsoo expected, but he accepted it. He knew his work was good, and bad, when he wanted it to be. For the first time, Jongin had a unflattering angle thanks to the best photographer.

"That is so good."

"Good as in, you look like a bug." Kyungsoo jabbed, satisfied. "I win."

"Let me show you yours, then." Jongin sat up and clicked the back button to Kyungsoo's close up portraiture.

It was a relatively normal close up, zoomed, but not distortedly so as he sat a little pink under the harsh light. His eyes were wide and angled slightly up, almost aloof. Innocent. Neither of them laughed at it, then.

"See? Yours is genuinely cute. I like it. Nothing bad about it." Jongin said as Kyungsoo was speechless in his jest, "This is how you look at me."

"What?"

"This picture, it captures how you look at me. I got it at the perfect time, since it's candid. Kind of."

Kyungsoo swallowed something foreign as Jongin continued, "Maybe I could be a photographer, too. With this kind of work."

"Definitely not."

The photographer then thought of it as strange, how the meetings of these neighbors spiraled him into a new page of his story. They gave him pinks, purples and indigos in his chest. Butterflies behind his eyes, silk on his fingertips. Motivation. A tunneled view of what apartments meant as they were stacked and hived together in close bundled homes and feelings of warmth— not just a place to lay your head after the day is done. They flew over pavement and pointed in windows to show him things he had passed by a hundred times and missed even with his sharp eyes. To Kyungsoo, they had shown him something close to new love. Sheltered him with the nuance of safety and perplexed stability that he lacked behind his brightest photographs, and in his darkest hours of cinema. In the beginning, it was light.

It was the way Soojung would dip her head when she talked, perplexedly reserved and calm like she was withholding a secret from the eyes of the world and hiding behind the concept of pure intent and articulation. Kyungsoo took many photos of her while they went out into town, in front of gardens and parks and the shops that lined the street. Soojung was there through autumn, but now he could admit freely they never really were friends. Or possibly they were, in a sense where they related way too closely and she saw that long before he did. He recognized pieces of himself in her, pieces of glass and the petals of disturbed blossoms.

Jongin, the lovesick puppy, was always by her side when they went out together, tucking himself under an arm or lounging over her shoulder. Sometimes it would be a hand in her raven hair, dancing and twisting around like he was caught in the strands of obsidian. Kyungsoo had many moments of Jongin staring at her in his camera memory. It felt embarrassing sometimes, to see the model wear his heart on his sleeve while she swallowed any amount of diffidence she might show. Yet, it was the difference in them, in their work. The way she was always polished, clean and tight-mouthed while he was the stench of tobacco and the sound of laugher. Kyungsoo's fingers moved alongside Jongin's, doing ballet down the horizon of Paris, and Kyungsoo thought about how Soojung was stronger than most, and the stronger one between the both of them.

At the window, their birthplace of newfound patterns, Kyungsoo lunged far, far, far over to hand Jongin a marigold across the expanse. Who met him halfway, giddy and letting out sounds of fear as he looked down towards the concrete below them.

As Jongin pulled back, beaming with the yellow flower in his outstretched hand, Kyungsoo took the black and white transparency and it was perfect, the perfect phase two for his project. It was a symbol of chastity and virtue.

"It might have been easier to just throw it over." Jongin joked, twirling the stem through his delicate fingers. "We could have both fallen down to our deaths. All for art."

Kyungsoo, enlightened, gave him a huge, cushioned heart-shaped smile. "Worth it."

"What should I do with this?"

"I don't care, keep it." Kyungsoo looked back down at the result, grinning.

"There's glass in it."

He immediately leered over at the tawny blossom, which was turned over, spilling the tiniest shards that he had ever seen, into Jongin's palm. Now both of them were standing in infinite whist. Laconic and void, together in the urban borough. Jongin spoke first, hesitant, "Hyung, what's wrong?"

"Get rid of it then. I don't know."

Jongin's gaze was heavy, but he tossed it anyway. It fell slowly down, down, down. Just like Jongin's ash a month ago.  
  


Naturally, Jongin came over numerous times throughout the slow weekdays. They talked about homemade dishes, the way the sunsets were so much redder in Europe, about music and English literature, and more often than not: Jongin would ask him to explain photographs and the ideas behind them, while piping out smoke from between his lips. Kyungsoo learned to like the smell, though he'd never admit that. He also would never admit that he noticed Soojung never came with Jongin to visit.

"Can I spend the night again?" Jongin would ask, already laying flat on his mattress and kicking his loafers off onto the floorboards.

"How come?" Kyungsoo would retort back, yet he let the model take up half the space and strip down into minimum decency. The photographer usually had to lecture Jongin about being bare and stretching over his cotton sheets. The model never cared.

"Soojung wont be home, I'll be bored."

"Bored? My place isn't any more interesting. Plus, I have school tomorrow."

Jongin brought up the album that rested on his floor, "Let's look through these."

Kyungsoo shook his head and pushed it away lightly, "You've looked through that a million times, how is that not boring?" He pushed it a second time as Jongin persisted.

"I like hearing you explain things." The model whined, deciding to open it against his naked torso. "You inspire me with this stuff."

"You fall asleep almost every time."

Jongin laughed, "That's because you have a voice like an audiobook narrator." His fingers were twirling over the glazed pages down to where Kyungsoo's clothed thigh came up against him in sheathed warmth. He smiled, "When are you going to put my pictures in a thing like this? A whole album?"

The photographer rolled his eyes with a smirk, "You're such an egotistical ass. I bet you have a million fangirls and fanboys with your pictures in albums."

"It means more when you take them. Your pictures aren't in professional settings with makeup artists and stylists and all that. They're like pictures you'd take of friends on your way to like, a convenient store. They're humble and seen through the eyes of a real artist." Jongin flipped through the book with nostalgia lacing his breath. "I'd like to look at myself through the eyes of someone who saw me as more than just a product. Your photos are good because they're what reality is. Reality isn't edited to perfection."

"But photos don't capture everything. It's one side, one lens, through one perspective."

"The perspective matters." Jongin said, closing it. "One persons perspective can reveal more than you think. It can reveal more than what the world could show."

Kyungsoo bumped his side, "You're getting just as pretentious as me now. Maybe you can be a photographer after all." He chuckled.

"And you call me egotistical?" Jongin shoved him back with hot skin pressing over Kyungsoo's shirt.

"You are." The shorter moved back.

"It's been ingrained into me, not my fault." Jongin let Kyungsoo scoot away, but had a dwindling smirk stamped onto his full lips as he reached over to the other stacks of books on the messy floor, and came back with the worn cover of a poetry novel.

"Poetry?" He observed.

"You like it?"

"I thought you outgrew poetry."

"Do you remember everything I say?"

Jongin blew some air out of his nose in a stifled chuckle, but also looked somewhat serious as he replied, "Of course. You say a lot of interesting things."

He then handed the book to Kyungsoo and nestled down onto his shoulder. As usual, he left Kyungsoo speechless with his brash language. How easily he admitted things and transmitted them into the air to linger, like irreversible magic. Jongin then lifted a hand up to pat the cover again, "Can you read me your favorite poem in this?"

"I don't know most of the ones in here. A lot of them are English poems translated to Korean." Kyungsoo admitted.

"I see. I remember learning about English poetry in school, but I think I was too dumb to remember any of it."

"You're not dumb." The photographer said a little too quick. Jongin smiled. Kyungsoo focused back on the book and opened it, seeing the usual curve of English writing beneath Korean. The book was named, 'Pass The Hours', and he pondered what it meant.

"Sometimes it can be boring when you're in school, but later you come to like it. That's what happened to me." He explained, clearing his throat. "Plus, a lot of poets can be hard to decipher. Some poems are straight to the point while others are abstract. It all just depends on your personal taste and what you relate to."

He began to flip through it, self aware of Jongin who stayed hushed, resting on him like nothing meant anything sacred. Kyungsoo cascaded right til he reached a prominent stanza printed in dark ink.

"See? This one is more self explanatory. It's about love, and loss." He pointed to the first line and recited:

People we'll never have back  
Rocking on the boat of uncertainty   
Above the sea of doubt and blind finality  
I look over to you, eyes closed   
Reaching with ghostly fingers  
To graze nothing, and to fall   
Deep   
Deep   
Deep  
Into the black, eyes open, I see you  
And think of   
Never having you again  
And I can finally see

Kyungsoo glanced briefly over his side, just to see a hint of a reaction. Jongin wasn't looking down at the book, he was looking up at him, mouth tight and eyes thinned in reposed thought. They were so close to eachother that Kyungsoo could spot every microscopic blemish and imperfection over Jongin's golden skin, and for just a moment, they sat staring, before he turned away and went to the next page.

"You find that easy to understand?" The model finally said with a dry laugh, which was swallowed by the tension, and Kyungsoo ignored it as he pointed to another poem.

"This one could be about toxic love, or obsession or however the reader perceives it to be. Only the author will truly know." He felt Jongin lean closer to get a better look, or maybe it was a different reason. Either way, he began to read:

Termination  
Dead air   
I feel you all around me  
In my bones  
My skin  
My heart  
All of me, is you  
And you are me  
The poison kisses my veins   
Pierces my skull  
And bleeds pink, red, purple  
Blossoming into the perfect death  
Into quietude  
Peace   
Calm

"Addiction." Jongin said. Kyungsoo spun with furrowed brows, waiting for him to explain.

The latter just shrugged, "I think that one could be about love if someone suffering with a broken heart read it, but when I read it it's about addiction."

"Like..."

"The same way people are addicted to drugs, or work, or validation. Anything that makes them feel good, but poisons them at the same time." Jongin continued, searching upwards with his eyes like it used a lot of effort to think. "It's about obsession. Being obsessed with something that hurts you."

"I think you're right." Kyungsoo was awed at the other, and for an unfiltered juncture, he wanted to know more about Jongin, about the way he thought about things. He never shared poetry with anyone, since it was something he learned to love while he was withering away on the streets of Paris, peering through bookstore windows in hopes to find an ounce of hope. It was like having a secret, but the ache was lifted and gently placed on someone else.

Jongin suddenly poked at his cheek, teeth flashing in random adoration. "You're smiling. I've never seen you smile that big."

Kyungsoo nudged the hand away and forced his cheeks to lower. "Im just shocked because that's the first time you've sounded smart."

"So mean, but you seem impressed so I guess I still win."

"You win nothing." He cast the book aside, but Jongin didn't move.

"Let me sleep over."

"You don't have to ask."

And just like that, Jongin had begun to sleep in his bed every week. Every night that was too heavy or too lonely, he was there, then like a fantasy, he always got up and left like a dutiful hallucination. He filled his mouth with Soojung's name, but called for Kyungsoo whenever he couldn't go home to her, who could never send him away, never back and never too far, arms length, with the caress of petals and inaudible words. It was all hunger and no satisfaction.

Jongin took his poetry, all his art, his cooking and curled in his lap with fingers in his fringe and a smile not meant for him. A promise of more than either of them could provide eachother. Jongin was ribbons, and running through puddles and crowing with the loud roar of traffic, then he was gone, every morning after pulling Kyungsoo against his chest and tangling his legs with shorter ones, he was gone. Brutally cold, and everlasting.

Kyungsoo, not having a name for this very new pain that hurt like the very best pleasure, started to realize his new art had a theme.

________

Soojung was wearing a long dress smoothed over and crease-less in its finesse, flowing as they stood in front of the soddened hill. It was a clear day, perfect for a shoot where the flora and herbage appeared saturated and stark against her pale form. Kyungsoo had the camera poised and angled perfectly at her and he could see the makeup glisten like diamonds in the dawn imbrue, like treasure.

"Can you raise your arms up around your hair and head area? We have to show off your gloves." He said.

She nodded, shaping her pale arms into a framing posture. It was graceful, dignified. He clicked the button, and the shutter went off with a sharp sound.

"Perfect. Can you lower your gaze a little? Glaring but without the muscle strain."

As usual, she succeeded better than he ever expected. Regaining her title as top model, effortless in her allure and lithesomeness. He popped up from behind the lense and shot her a thumbs up signaling she could finally slump over and relax, the shoot was done, and Soojung nodded and dropped her arms loosely. The air was stifling.

"Do you want to see the shots?" He asked once she was close enough.

Soojung sent him a collected face, "I trust you. I'm sure they look great." And with that, went back to the nearest makeup artist, who whispered and brushed something imaginary over her cheeks. The professional setting was a little alarming to Kyungsoo, who was only used to underground shoots, and messy formats.

"Are you positive? This is a big deal—"

"I'm sure. I recommended you for a reason. Your work is amazing, and they know that. It'll turn out great, Oppa."

"Okay. Thank you, again. You did great."

"Thank you." She said, never quite looking the same in his eyes. That one fateful night. Glass in the marigold. "Your first European feature, isn't that exciting?"

As he saw the likeness of her in that magazine, he puzzled why she had done that for him in the first place. Maybe an act of sympathy, or a thoughtful farewell for the harsh brunt of winter. 

\----------

"Oh my god, Soo, your pics are being put into a French magazine already?" Chanyeol shrieked, his shocked face glitching out the low quality over his screen. Baekhyun was with him, even louder with his screams of shared joy.

Kyungsoo made a pained face, "Yes! Now be quiet, you guys are so loud and for what?"

Baekhyun suddenly took up half the view, "For you! Aren't you just freaking out, right now?"

"I am, which is why I'm also terrified."

"Don't be scared! This is great!" Baekhyun smiled, letting Chanyeol reign control again. The giant shook his head and laughed.

"Thank you, guys. But I got this because of Soojung, she recommended me to the advertiser, and the catalogue owners. She has a lot of influence. A lot more than I do." He said, trying to talk over their excitement and the failing connection. Luckily, he had his headphones on or the whole coffee shop would have shunned him by now, yet having their goofy faces pop up on his laptop was still somehow humiliating. "This is literally her pulling strings for me."

"Exposure is still exposure." Chanyeol said nonchalantly. "Don't overthink this. This is still your talent taking toll, here."

"Yeah! Plus, taking Soojung's photos will get you even more clout since she's successful there and in Korea. It's good either way! Our little Kyungsoo getting famous. On the cover of Le Follet." Baekhyun chimed in.

"Not the cover. Just inside for some little advertisement thing." Kyungsoo corrected, mentally dying. "It's product placement."

"Product placement! Product placement!" They both yelled into his earphones like a mantra. Kyungsoo cringed, but inwardly he was king of the world, despite the sinking feeling radiating through his heart.

_______

"Well, don't we have to commemorate you?" Jongin cooed, popping open the bottle of celebratory wine and letting it settle. Soojung was beside him looking content and put-together, even when she was bare faced and wearing house robes.

Kyungsoo let himself grin, "This is all thanks to you, Soojung. Thank you."

She waved him off, "No, I was just speeding up the inevitable. Your talent would have gotten you there anyways, and it'll get you even farther down the road."

"You guys are..." He let Jongin pour him a glass and hand it to him. "You guys have helped me a lot. I don't even know what to say."

"Say: I deserve it!" Jongin cheered, pumping a little fist up. His girlfriend chuckled and mimicked him, pouring herself a drink as well. The scene was domiciliary and real pure happiness rose in his chest.

"I deserve this." He lifted his glass.

They met him with a cheers.

That same twilight, he had taken only two similitudes. One of Soojung, posed with the half drunken wine casing, flushed and teeth showing. The second was of Jongin, setting up an old record on their music player, eyes heavily downcast in intoxicated focus.

An open window casted briskness into the apartment, while the soulful melody rang through the open space, adding euphony to the decline into melancholia madness. The glass had finally come back to cut them.

"Do you need to drink it all?" Jongin had abruptly attacked Soojung late into the night, as she was in the kitchen away from them pouring another glass. His words were melting together, but Kyungsoo was hazy himself and wondered if he imagined it.

"I'm not. You're drunker than me." She said, finishing off the grape liquor with a grating slam of the empty bottle, it made the shorter flinch and something unsettling began to tingle in his stomach. Something was off.

Jongin, next to him on the couch, immediately slung an arm over Kyungsoo and moved forward. He smelled sweet, and syrupy.

"She's lying. She always lies."

Kyungsoo gulped, watching as Soojung came back with a full glass, some of it spilling over onto her knuckles, but no one seemed to notice except him. The model, sipping at the edge of her cup, eyed Jongin with malice, "What did you say to him?" She then looked over at Kyungsoo, "What did he say?"

"Nothing." He sputtered. Jongin was still touching him, but he felt cold. He wasn't sure why he had lied, even now. "He's just drunk."

Jongin seemed offended by his answer and took away his arm like he had been burned, "I'm not that drunk." He was even colder now.

"Aren't we supposed to be drunk?" Kyungsoo asked meekly.

The couple goggled at his words, falling into a tense quiet after. The music kept swaying, and Kyungsoo inquired if he would end up sick, for one reason or another. He got up then, gesturing towards the record player, "I see you guys like old school stuff. Marvin Gaye. He's really good."

It's Soojung who replied tersely, with wine stained lips, "Yeah. It's more of Jongin's style. He chooses most of the music. Since he dances and stuff."

"Oh, you dance?" Kyungsoo peered over at him then, witnessing something internal.

"Used to." Jongin spat, angled away from him. "It's more of a casual thing now. Something she forgot to mention, I guess."

"You just enjoy talking about it so much to our guests, I thought you'd want to segway and go off on your little tangent." She mumbled, just as venomous. They weren't looking at eachother. "Remember Taemin? You two bonded really well over that topic. Or I guess I forgot to mention that too."

Something in Jongin snapped, and he immediately bounced up and away toward the window to whip out a cigarette. Kyungsoo could only gawk as his mind swam with a million questions. Who was Taemin? What was happening right now? He pulled out his phone, texting the only person he could think of: Chanyeol.

DO: CALL ME 

It only took his friend two minutes to have his phone blaring over the music, and he quickly held it up to show the distressed couple the source of the noise, before motioning and escaping to the bathroom, locking the door.

"Hello? What's wrong?" Chanyeol came in over the other line, he sounded tired.

Drunken guilt settled and he ran a hand over his face in exasperation, "I needed a break. I needed an excuse." He was positive his words were incoherent over the receiver. It was nearly a whisper, even though the music from outside was loud and booming though the wood.

"What? Are you drunk?"

"Yes. Kind of. I'm at a party." He stared at his reflection, wondering why. "I think I need to go. Things are weird, just stay on the line."

Chanyeol still came off confused and lethargic, "Um, okay. Sure."

He exited the bathroom, but to his surprise, they were both gone. The record was still spinning, blasting somehow louder than before, and without a word he slipped through the front door—home.

\---------

He didn't see Jongin or Soojung after that for some time. It seemed mutual, the avoidance. Their windows were neglected, and only occupied for the habitual smoke or watering of flowers, none of them saw eachother.

Until one afternoon, Jongin was posted at his usual spot. Ash tray beside him. Indigo under his eyes, as he stared up at Kyungsoo for the first time in awhile. Too long, it seemed.

Kyungsoo was shrugging on his pajamas as the smell of smoke traveled into his room in pungent wafts, causing him to catch Jongin there. Watching him carefully, as he was positioned to close the slider down.

"You've never closed that window before." Jongin observed as sadness laced his tone. He was deprived of something, something that seemed important.

"The smoke. It's too strong."

For the first time, Jongin didn't finish the cigarette, and instead ashed it into the panel with a calculated twist of his fingers only achieved through practice. He peered back up, "Will you leave it open, now?"

Kyungsoo never forgot his face in that moment. He nodded, "It'll be open."

______  
  


"Who are these people?" His professor pondered aloud fingering through the portfolio. Landscapes, edits, filters, portraits—all of it. At his grasp. All of Kyungsoo's updated work, the world through his desolate eyes. He held up a picture of Jongin, sitting on the stairs, "Family?"

Kyungsoo almost broke his composure, "Muses." He said. Admitted. Thrown into the air like smoke.

His teacher had that same knowing glint and curvature of his lips, "You never fail me, Kyungsoo. I'll still be look forward to that monochromatic final."

"Yes, professor."

Kyungsoo had begun to lose count of all the photos he had taken in the month of September. It had become work, quite literally, in the sense that models and photography students alike had begun to know him and ask him for favors. He accumulated other opportunities, varied things he had to market, newer and fresher faces he had to look at through the lens. As he was busier, he was lonelier.

Soojung and Jongin were still models. Kyungsoo was still a photographer. Their faces were everywhere. Yet he stopped taking their pictures entirely, despite their worlds only orbiting yards away. It came a new routine then, to rarely ever see them. Days became weeks, and Kyungsoo was beginning to fret about not only his end project—but his relationship with the two. Especially Jongin.

Kyungsoo made eye contact with him through the meniscus, meeting the lustful simper of the other through layers of glass and articulated zoom. Jongin's shirt was open, and he was inherently oiled down in an unknown substance. It was the aftermath of a gala he went to, Jongin explained briefly to him, while knocking on his door and asking to come inside. Who was Kyungsoo to deny him? It had been the first time they spoke formally in days. If you could even call it formal. Jongin had a way of showing up at the most unexpected times.

"Lift your head a bit." He demanded gently, bent behind his camera. Jongin was definitely not sober, but he wasn't comatose either, so he angled his head higher up on the pillows. The lighting was mauve like the rings under his eyes that makeup couldn't cover up.

"Kyungsoo." He breathed after a moment, "I'm going to take my jacket off more."

Kyungsoo was only there at the other's needy request, and so he shrugged, "Do what you want."

Jongin went quiet and shouldered off the only fabric left, revealing more tinted skin and curves. His collar bone. The slant of his pecs, the ribs of his muscle. Jongin, in most ways, was lewd. Kyungsoo just clicked the button, leering as the lilac chroma played with the bouncing lambency.

"Lean back. Against the headboard."

The model obeyed sluggishly, blinking in hazy, aimless strokes. Kyungsoo immediately came up from behind the scope in a juncture of concern, "Are you...."

"Take it." Jongin whispered. Then louder, "Take the picture, Hyung."

"Okay." Kyungsoo huffed, moving back down to click, click, click. The shorter had to admit, Jongin was undoubtedly divine. Even like this, sorrowful and exposed under the flare of his optic. Though, logic prevailed through his artistry, and he came up again. "Jongin."

The model looked half asleep, and Kyungsoo tried again, "Why are you here? It's so late. You never ask me for photos anymore."

"I missed you. How long has it been?" Jongin asked, hoarse, pressed against the board of his bed.

"I-I don't know."

"I thought about you at the gala. You should have been there. It was full of all these..." He waved his arms in the darkness, "Egotistical, old, elitist white dudes. They showed off their pictures from the catwalk and it was just..."

The shorter waited as Jongin exhaled the last of his weary sentence, "You should have come. I looked so good in my outfit."

"You look good now."

Jongin laughed a labored noise like a sob, and Kyungsoo tensed up at the audible break inside Jongin then, as it was the first him his theory had begun to ring true, "This isn't the runway outfit. I wore this for the after party. I think my own style is better anyway...half the time. Than those stylists."

"Are you drunk?"

"No." Jongin's eyes scanned the room, landing only on him. "I'm not drunk. Why would you ask that?"

"You're acting crazy." Kyungsoo said in all honesty. Hurt, somehow.

"Crazy." Jongin parroted with sass. Slumped lower now.

"Yeah. You are. Why did you come?"

"Do you regret letting me in?"

The photographer halted, "No."

"I'm not drunk." Jongin looked shaken up. "You always say that. I'm not fucked up."

"When have I ever said that?" Kyungsoo failed to hide his frustration.

"The party. You said I was too drunk."

"You're mixing me up with Soojung."

"Don't say her fucking name to me." The model snapped.

Kyungsoo was taken aback at the sudden hostility. It seemed nearly impossible for Jongin to emit such abhorrence, to see such blurry fire in his eyes. Silence brewed between them and he could hear his own heartbeat throb in his ears, head, and chest. Flooding. Aching. He pointed to the door, "Get the hell out. Now, Jongin."

"Gladly." Jongin moved to get off the bed and got about a generous foot away before falling flat onto his knees. The sound was dense, and Kyungsoo, by reflex, dived to haul him up, but the model was dead weight his arms, head lulling around like a dolls.

"Jongin, what are fuck are you on?"

"Pills. Got some. Took pills." Jongin chanted as the shorter laid him back onto the bed. His bedroom light was on now, showing how pale Jongin really was and how his eyes rolled back at every word. Kyungsoo was nearly panicked, he was never taught how to deal with drug-related ailments. Let alone ailments at all. He sat by Jongin's side, letting the model hold his hand with limp fingers.

"You're okay, Jongin. I'm here, okay?"

"Soojung." Was all Jongin jumbled together, before falling into a deep, still state. 

\--------

Sometimes, on the brisk twilight, Kyungsoo found himself sitting amongst the stars. The rest of the world peeled away, as the buildings were shielded by the looming hint of chill. On nights like that, Jongin found a way to crawl into his skin and imbed himself there like a parasite. The photographer never had a difficult time denying any of his friends back home, in fact, saying no was a running joke in their youthful mouths. So why, why, was the model on the floor of his room sitting proud like a king who owned the damn place.

"You have your own apartment, you know that right?" Kyungsoo jabbed, insincere. He was on his laptop uploading from the most recent inflow of prints. "You don't have to stink up my room. This whole place reeks of smoke now, because of you."

"Ha-ha, very funny. Ever thought of being a comedian? You're the one who lets me in every time." Jongin was flat against the deck.

"My roommates let you in, dumbass."

"They like me." Jongin hauled up his bones to shift to the open window, sticking a filtered cigarette between his plush lips and searching for a light. Kyungsoo arched up at the sight.

"Don't smoke in here." He reprimanded.

The model coughed out a muddled chuckle, and didn't cease, "I'm by the window, Hyung. You always let me smoke by the window."

Kyungsoo went back to his screen, "Well, not tonight. It's too distracting." He started to type out the dates, "If you're bored, you don't have to be here. There's a whole city out there full of night life. Isn't that what models usually do for fun?"

A swish, click, swoosh and the cigarette was ceremoniously lit. Jongin suppressed a smile, "You always say that. I'm never bored of you. You're my night life."

"Kiss-ass."

"Why else would I be here?" The latter cracked up. It smelled like smoke and sponsored perfume. Like Jongin.

It felt as if the light was that much closer, as if one day he'd be able to feel something as bright as a star being born. A smile resting across his face, contentment taking hold of him.

But, Kyungsoo floated further away, restless and awake, not knowing what else to do but stare and think and breath and wonder—why. Why was he here to bathe in the stars and bask in their view. Why was he always stuck like this with Jongin, the boy who would come to him with the cuts and bruises of glass and marigolds, and the dark circles of half mooned pomegranate.

Kyungsoo opened his door for Jongin a hundred times, and hundred more times when the stars weren't watching. 

Jongin went home, only to come to the window and yell Kyungsoo's name.

Drawn like a moth to flame, he came over and peered into the face of the model, who was absolutely jaded. Enervated of everything except one thing: Kyungsoo's name on his tongue.

"Kyungsoo-Hyung, lets keep talking, okay?"

"What do you mean?" Kyungsoo grabbed his camera on impulse.

"Keep this window open." He wasn't smiling, but he wasn't frowning either. "I want to keep talking to you."

"It's always open."

Kyungsoo snapped the picture, and when he lowered the camera—Jongin was gone and the third addition to his project was complete. There was no happiness tied in the accomplishment.

Addiction. That's what it was. What it had been. His recollection of finally knowing Jongin was sketched with patchy and desolate bits of aching pain. Leering into his sunken face and seeing him decayed and rotting as you would in the soil, but it was in a blindingly fluorescent bathroom on the way to suicidal euphoria. He numbed himself with burnt chemicals and nights of grey lethargy. Away from his own body on nights where he strutted down the runway, or vogued in front of an abrupt bouquet of flashes. Or when he was there at the window. Again. Sick and beautiful.

"Where's Soojung?" Kyungsoo asked, like reading from a script.

"Staying with a friend. Things have been..." Jongin said, as he looked down.

"Rough?"

A sad, dry laugh, "Rough. That's the word. You want to come over? Lots of space."

Kyungsoo could never say no, "Sure. I'll be there in a second."

It's was at that time, Kyungsoo understood Soojung. He understood her futile rage and tortured love for Jongin. The way her eyes carried the weight of not only herself, but his burdens as well. Kyungsoo had become her, in a way. A replacement while she was off and escaping the emotional torture, or whatever she was doing, he didn't know. He didn't care either. Caring was too hard. He liked her better when she was far away so he didn't have to look into her eyes and see himself reflected back.

Jongin wanted him around much more often while she was away. He would call and call, or hover outside the apartment waiting to be let inside, he played it off as casualty but there was a desperation in his intonation and his actions. Every caress, every boundary pushed by Jongin was purposeful and messy. The model seemed to be slipping, and Kyungsoo was part of the act now, documenting it through reckless affection.

It was as if Jongin needed Soojung like he needed to press a capsule to the back of his throat, and Kyungsoo was good enough for the time being as a temporary high.

"So, tell me about your friends back in Korea. Who are they? Who did you leave behind?" Jongin interrogated as they sat pressed on the couch, his knee was shaking from tapping his foot in erratic tempo.

Kyungsoo indulged him with a sigh, "Well, I have an older brother but he's kind of doing his own thing. Married, kids on the way. He's definitely my parents pride even though they love and support me. I can't complain." He ignored the way Jongin bore holes into him, "I have Chanyeol, who's my closest friend, Baekhyun and some others I'm more out of touch with now. Sehun, Amber."

"Amber?" Jongin piqued interest, "Was she your girlfriend?"

"No. She's been dating some guy forever. Why do you ask things like that?"

The model looked away like it meant nothing, "Just wondering. You're so private. I want to know more about you." He said.

"About my dating life, specifically." Kyungsoo sneered. He pretended not to feel like Jongin was talking through him.

"You already know mine. Why is it bad if I wanna know yours?"

"I don't know yours. I only know..."

Jongin made a sound of affirmation, eyes grazing over the side of the room, then inward, landing back on Kyungsoo, "If I tell you mine, you tell me yours okay?"

"No promises."

"Yeah yeah. Well, I'm only going to name off my real relationships, real to me anyway. None of that hookup stuff."

Kyungsoo wasn't ready, and he pressed his lips flat.

"I dated a girl named Jennie for a couple months. She was a model too, a very popular one. We went our separate ways and she ended up dating someone in the agency, so we stopped talking." The model was dancing with his hands again, over his thigh. Arabesque. Battement. Chasse. His fingers made back over to Kyungsoo's leg, still moving, "I also dated a girl named Nayeon in high school, then a boy named Moonkyu."

Kyungsoo could hardly focus with Jongin's hand doing a etendre over the fabric of his knee. The model went on, "Then Taemin, then Soojung. Does that seem like a lot to you? Am I a player?"

The tone of insecurity brought Kyungsoo back down to earth, and he quickly crossed his legs to let Jongin's hand fall away, which it did. The shorter shook his head, "No. You're too sensitive. You probably just have a lot of love to give."

Jongin gave a seamless grin, "You're way too damn nice."

"Probably."

"You want to drink tonight?"

That was his cue to go. To vanish and leave Jongin to create the mess he created every night. Kyungsoo couldn't clean up anymore messes. He got up, "I think I'm okay. Plus, I have class tomorrow."

Jongin clutched onto his sleeve, eyes bloodshot and frantic. Searching, he pulled Kyungsoo back down, "Okay. No drinking. Let's do something else. Tell me about your dating history, okay? Let's do that."

Kyungsoo's resolve was slipping too, and he let Jongin curl into his side as he went along, "Uh, okay. It's not going to be as interesting."

"Just tell me."

"I dated one girl in high school for three years. She was my first love. It ended bad." His throat felt tight, "Um, then—one other person. For awhile."

"Hm? Who? How long?" Jongin perked up from laying on his shoulder to send him a look of dizzy curiosity. He was tweaking.

"Chanyeol. About..."

"THE Chanyeol? The one you call your 'best friend' and talk to all the time?"

"I guess. Things are different now since I moved, though."

"Well, did you guys...you know..."

"Why would you even ask me that?"

"To see you get flustered." Jongin's smirk was unhinged and his hand was still dancing. High energy, what the uppers always did to his body. "Because you're cute when you get shy. Your face gets so red."

"You're pushing it."

"Okay, okay. I'll drop it." Jongin barked out a hasty chuckle and was oddly contented with Kyungsoo's confession, laying back down.

"I think, if I wasn't a model...I would have stayed a dancer. I would have just done what I wanted to do with my life, instead of being swept off my feet by stardom. You remind me of myself before everything changed."

Kyungsoo brought up his hand to caress Jongin's mangled locks. They were too overgrown and his black roots were coming through the caramel dye. It was unruly, unbridled and still effortlessly perfect on him.

Jongin's eyes closed at the gesture like he was in solace, "The world of modeling is so...romantic. You're praised and controlled and thrown into the abyss of show-business and fame. People want you. It's like a constant feeling of adrenaline. But, it's so..."

"So, what?"

He opened his eyes and they looked glazed over, "Damaging? Yeah, damaging. Over time the constant judgement just gets to you and the need for validation is overwhelming. I feel like I've changed so much since back then. And I don't know the last time I've danced."

Kyungsoo let his hand ebb into a gentle stop, just resting on Jongin's scalp. Jongin looked really peaceful, for a concise occasion.

"Why don't you stop? And just dance again?"

"I can't."

"You can't? Or you won't?"

Jongin smirked, "Good question. I honestly don't know. I'm over sharing aren't I?" He sat up, hair more tussled than before as he stared into Kyungsoo's face, "I always over share to you, and you hardly say anything. I'm kind of an idiot. Soojung always said so."

Kyungsoo didn't have the heart to tell him how truly common it was for Jongin to throw pieces of himself around. Jongin's self destruction was not something Kyungsoo understood right away, nor anything he claimed to know. And probably, likewise, he never would. He knew that a deep part of Jongin yearned for him to press a little harder, to try to understand without fear behind his eyes, because Jongin knew that he knew, and yet Kyungsoo knew nothing. So the model spilled little bits and pieces of his deadened soul around himself, around the apartment, down the stairs to the bottom floor, the runway, the balcony, cascading through the winding aisles of a supermarket— and here, on the couch. An inch apart from Kyungsoo, but miles away in rooted perspective.

"It doesn't matter. That's what I'm here for." The shorter attempted a look of placid facade.

Jongin gazed at him for what seemed like forever before pulling himself up to the window, at first Kyungsoo's initial reaction was that he was going to bring out a cigarette, but he didn't. He just stood there leaning against the opening.

"Take a picture of me here. You don't take pictures of me anymore."

Kyungsoo got up, perplexed, "I always take pictures of you."

"We've never taken a picture together. Isn't that sad?" Jongin skipped over his reply and opened his arms as Kyungsoo got closer and enveloped him in a side hug, twisting them both around to look straight forward. It was Jongin's view, looking into Kyungsoo's window. The sight was utterly disorienting for a moment, until he saw Jongin staring down at him intently.

"I don't like taking pictures of myself."

"It's not about liking it. You just do it."

"I only take pictures of things I like."

Jongin looked in deep thought as he began to put more weight over Kyungsoo's shoulder, probably due to the lack of personal space Jongin always harbored, or lack of balance. He still prevailed somewhat lax despite it all.

"So you like me?" He pondered.

"You're asking dumb things."

"How is that dumb? I'm wondering about your feelings!"

"My window is open. Like I said, it's always open. If it's open than it means that I'm always going to talk to you." Kyungsoo said.

Jongin suddenly looked burdened by his words, and his face dropped into a grimace, "What If one day you close it because there's a draft, and then I see it and think you hate me?"

"Hm. Good point. Guess you just have to use deductive reasoning."

"You know I can't do that."

"It'll be open, Jongin. Don't worry about it."

\--------

One gloomy night, a night that was edging on dusk, Kyungsoo had come home after school after picking up a roll of film from the convenient store— and right up the stairs, leaning over the banister, was Jongin. Smoking. Staring.

The dancer was garbed in an oversized hoodie and sweats, shoe-less. His pitted eyes grazed over Kyungsoo, stopping on the bag he was holding. His lips suddenly quirked, "Is there a party tonight?"

Kyungsoo moved towards the elevator and pressed the button, back afront. "Yep. Big party."

"Hey," Jongin's voice was gentler now. Kyungsoo turned around.

"Did I...do something to make you upset?"

"What?"

"I'm wondering if I did something to make you dislike me at all." The model asked again. Smoke framing him in ghostly haziness. He looked celestial under the crepuscular light, and Kyungsoo could only blink moronically at him from afar.

"No. No, you didn't do anything."

"Okay." Jongin whispered. He had an expression of loss over his features now. "I was just curious. Sorry to bother you, Hyung."

Kyungsoo went to enter through the opening doors, but stopped in his tracks. Instead, he pivoted around to eye Jongin, who wasn't facing him now. His profile was turned away and shadowed by the starlight, cigarette pressed to his lips like always. He seemed to be deep in thought. Or maybe his head was completely empty; Kyungsoo didn't know.

"Why, uh, why do you think I dislike you?" He questioned delicately.

Jongin seemed jostled by his sudden inquiry, but engaged. "I guess we just don't talk as much. Not as much as I'd like."

"Jongin, I've just been busy with school, and work. It's nothing personal." Kyungsoo said. "Plus, you've been working a lot too. I saw that new advertisement in downtown. You-"

"That was from a month ago. I haven't been working much lately." The model interrupted. "Soojung moved back in."

The doors were closing and Kyungsoo let them. He fully turned to the other now, "Really? That's good, right?"

"Good? If it was good why would I be out here?"

They stood there for what moved like a small eternity, rigid and stark in the moonlit conurbation. Kyungsoo then pushed down a wave of confused anger and pressed the elevator button again. Looking at the other boy was too much, more often than not.

"Are you mad, Hyung?"

"Are you high right now?" Kyungsoo exhaled.

Silence, then a low murmur, "Yes."

"Goodnight." He entered the elevator and let the doors close.

_______

"Remember class, the due date for your monochrome project is coming up relatively soon. Make sure to finish up what you have by the end of next week, okay?"

Kyungsoo began to despise his theory for being right. Life in the opposite window was never enough to see the true reality. In a moment of regret, he had half a mind to start over.

______

"Let me pull my stuff in." Chanyeol was laughing, lugging in a huge black suitcase. His roommates had peeked their heads through to see who it was, but quickly disappeared as fast as they came.

"My room is up some stairs so, you're going to have to drag that up. Need help?"

"It's okay. I'm buff." Chanyeol flexed, dropping the suitcase down with a startling slam. They both had wide eyes and crowed at the absurdity of it all, Kyungsoo invited the giant to hug him.

The night Chanyeol came, the cold, gleaming stars looked down on Paris. And Paris, twinkling and strewn with flashing lights, looked back up. Through the towering expanse and bumbling streets, the stars had a view of the small, rundown apartment. Where the night sky could almost make out the shadows and concealed sounds of surprise and joy that issued from within- the night Chanyeol journeyed from Korea to see him again.

For the first few days in the city, it was brilliantly vivid and new. Kyungsoo had immediately fulfilled his first promise, taking him to the cafe he frequented. They ran fingers along the railings and benches, sat under shaded trees and secret crooks, peered through the windows of shops and antique boutiques, sank their soled feet into the concrete that smelled of rain and the color blue; caught leaves the hue of summer, laid in his bed for days.

Chanyeol's cheeks were rosier, softer, his smell had grown sweeter, his voice more warm and careful while Kyungsoo had been away. Every night they slept elbow to elbow, and some conspicuous moments of weakness would entail the smaller to reach out and make sure the other was real.

And when the other had leaned close, close, close to kiss him. Kyungsoo let him.

He had eventually introduced Chanyeol to Jongin and Soojung.

As time sent them all into foreboding quiet in the model's shared apartment, Kyungsoo had explained that Chanyeol was a close friend. That he was excited to meet them. And- to his lack of shock- he was met by silent knowingness and lighthearted eyes.

Kyungsoo met these reactions with bewildered relief, but it was Chanyeol who had suspected him the most. His own best friend. The boy did not leave it alone at simple, taunt vagueness. He pursed his lips into a tight, disbelieving frown and asked him why, when they were alone together, after all they had been through- why couldn't he tell the truth about what they were? As if Kyungsoo could hide the model's bruises and red tinged eyes. As he could conceal the way Chanyeol showered him with invisible love and intangible moments. A life of lies, a selfish existence all through a million open and closed windows and a hundred clicks of a camera shutter.

That was when Kyungsoo stopped talking about Jongin and Soojung and the reason he had their faces plastered all over the inside of his mind and bedroom. It was a long, tiring juncture before Chanyeol, in hopeless fruition, stopped asking. Chanyeol had not kissed him on his way out, and the photographer tore all the photographs down from his walls in an act of monstrous death.  
  


A bird made a morning call as the clock hit the early dawn hours. That early day, Kyungsoo, with the power to seek and demand disentanglement, removed one of the dying plants from the sill, brushing the dried petals off into the bottomless alleyway. Jongin suddenly had done what he had done the first time they saw eachother, and had come over to put out a smoke, vanishing away back into his room as the curtains flowed in a frame of mournfulness. Kyungsoo remembered tossing one of the crumbling flowers and landing it perfectly on the paralleled wood. Then snapping his last picture of the series, an empty window with one singular, desiccated efflorescence.

When the potted plants were all placed away, he finally shut the window.


	2. Winter's Death

He considered the possibility it was Jongin's foreboding presence. 

An abstraction he fixated on nearly every day since that phenomenon at the window, the gears in Kyungsoo's mind had been greased and turned by the latter's hands reaching in and working his dancing fingers the way he does. Such an outlandish, novel sentiment he toted for the model. It was like he was saved but didn't have the language to express how or why. He just knew Jongin had something to do with why he was where he was, but why- if he was truly 'fixed'- was he feeling such a cloud of darkness placed overhead while he gazed at the other. The mutual understanding of something unknown and unsaid. Ultimate secrecy and blissful ignorance.

Kyungsoo had continued his boring way of life through the beginning of fall, rotating through classes and pages of homework, spending most nights perched over a desk or sitting in the library until closing. It felt as if his life had taken a million sharp turns over the course of the past, rattling his bones and sending him into a dizzy state every morning he woke up to ride to school. 

His mundane sensability become something soul-sucking and it leeched off of his will to learn, and his will to do pretty much anything else for that matter. Chanyeol was still silent since his departure, and Baekhyun was always too busy to pick up his calls. Soojung was nowhere to be found, confirmed during the lowest nights of Kyungsoo's life where he would grovel at the window and peer through to catch a glimpse, as if he was afraid none of it was real. 

Jongin returned into a cursory spirit. He molted away from humanity and became perennial in Kyungsoo's camera, the scent of smoke, a honeyed voice and a shadow in his peripheral. A ceaseless vision across his bedroom window that lingered too long and stared up too intensely at Kyungsoo's lucarne to see if it was open. One day, it was.

Kyungsoo found him after the model had waited outside his apartment entrance, in an encounter that seemed like a meticulous act of apologetic fortune all in itself. Shaking his head, Kyungsoo attributed the fleeting thought to nothing more than the activity of his hopeful imagination, and let Jongin inside. It had been his first appearance since the month before. He felt more dizzy than ever before, and he was burning.

With a subdued and hesitant movement, the model ran a stressed hand through his long hair, Kyungsoo's silence refusing to appease Jongin's vulnerable state, eyes darker than the last time he had seen them.

"Are you busy?" Uncertainty marked each syllable, and the words felt as if they leave traces of fear on Jongin's tongue, dripping like a repetitive offense from his mouth.

The pout on Kyungsoo's lips tilted into a flat line, and Jongin sighed as Kyungsoo shook his head, "I was working on school. My room is a mess." He didn't finish that thought, and they escaped up to his room seconds after.

There was film, albums and pages of collaged journaling strewn about his bed in a display of chaotic disarray. It usually put Kyungsoo in some kind of control, to go back and look at old photos he had taken in the past. He had been attempting to find inspiration. A reason as to why to moved here. Yet he felt as if he had no control at all having all his work out, while the model was in his space. Like he was open and gutted. His inspiration had just entered the room, it seemed, personified in the sickly form of cotton and bronze skin.

Kyungsoo moved some of the parchment to give Jongin room to sit, "So, what's up?"

"Is it okay that I'm here?" Jongin asked in shy terror. It didn't suit him.

"If it wasn't, I wouldn't have let you in."

"Yeah. You're right." Jongin laughed, "I just...wanted to see you."

It reminded him of that night that Jongin came by after the gala, golden and wearing a halo of drugged shame.

"Where's Soojung?"

He swore he saw light die behind Jongin's brown eyes, and the model hunched over to fiddle with the pictures on the mattress as if he was trying to hide his face, "Left again. Friends house."

"Friends house." Kyungsoo leaned back against the post and bent the corner of an effigy. "Who is this friend? Do you know?"

"Yeah. I know."

The photographer decided to leave it at that, and peeked over at what Jongin was touching, "Those were for my photography final. We had to do a series where it was all black and white. It had to have a story and a meaning, and it had to be somewhat abstract. I guess." Kyungsoo had a hushed voice as he pointed. The four, menacing pinups riveted up at them. "I saw you staring at them."

Jongin was motionless and reconciled as he shuffled through with heavy eyes, putting one behind the other. He then looked up to meet his stare, "Did you pass?"

"Yeah, but my professor was underwhelmed."

"Wow. Harsh teacher. You have photos in catalogues and he still graded you like that?" Jongin scoffed.

The shorter shrugged with a weak smile, "Status means nothing to him, I just don't think it was romantic enough for his liking."

"What's more romantic than tragedy?"

"Tragedy." Kyungsoo mouthed, "Why do you think these represent tragedy?"

"You closed your window." Jongin frowned with his fingers pressed harshly against the vignette. He held up the one with the dried flower, "You closed your window this day. What isn't tragic about that?"

"I had to." Kyungsoo was speechless.

"You closed it and didn't talk to me for weeks after. And now I'm back. Again, like always. What isn't tragic about this whole thing?"

"Just give them back if you don't want them. I'll put them somewhere else." Kyungsoo lunged, but Jongin held them out of reach.

"Hyung. Just tell me why."

"It was hard." Kyungsoo felt his voice deepen, "It got hard. At the end."

"Then that was the end?"

"Maybe. I-I don't know, Jongin. I don't."

Jongin stacked them all together like they were going to be stolen from him, "Let me have them." He said.

He still wasn't facing Kyungsoo, and the shorter wondered what was so detrimental about the flower on the window sill. It all felt bigger than what he had intended it to mean, bigger to Jongin. He nodded, watching as the model had begun to cry.

"So I take it, things aren't...good?"

"Were they ever good?"

"I don't know." Kyungsoo admitted. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"Well, I can say one thing. Soojung is not coming back. Ever." Jongin finally met his gaze, blinking away tears.

"What? Jongin, why not?"

"Why do you think? Because of me. Because of how messed up we were."

"I'm sorry." Kyungsoo whispered, fighting the wanton yearning to pull the model into his arms. He was weak. Weak for Jongin in a way he didn't quite grasp. If that was love, it didn't feel as clean and pure as the stories made it out to be.

"Why are you sorry? None of that is your fault. We were toxic. We knew that before we moved here and came to Paris anyway. It's just the end of a chapter."

"You sound uncharacteristically calm about the whole thing."

"I'm just tired. It was so exhausting. I'm just glad there's finally an end." Jongin closed his eyes like he was ready to sleep surrounded by all the mismatched photographs, like it was a nest of his own memories and not Kyungsoo's. "I've been selfish. Really selfish. To you, and to Soojung."

Kyungsoo had a gut feeling it wasn't the end at all, "What happened?"

"Just had a bad fight. Brought up old shit, and it pissed her off so she brought up new shit. Do you really want to know?"

"Sure."

Propping himself up straight, Jongin spiraled into it like he had been waiting his whole life to talk about the topic, since Kyungsoo finally pushed enough with his sentient violence and empathy.

"Well, neither of us were loyal. Especially when pills got involved. Or we drank. This business is....bad for people. In a way, it brings out your most shallow qualities and rewards them. Because that's how you survive." He said, laying back down. "Modeling pushed us into unhealthy lifestyles, and our judgment was always fogged up by our bad decisions. Ruined together, with the help of one another. We became cheaters, liars and drunks. It was an inevitable end."

"I never saw either of you like that."

"How did you see us?" The model smirked at the glint of hope lacing Kyungsoo's words. "The perfect couple?"

"No. Not perfect, just...complicated."

"Well, that's a little optimistic."

"I saw the goodness in both of you."

"You're too romantic, Hyung. The city of love will eat you alive."

"Well, you're overly cynical. Maybe the city has more to offer than just bittersweet monotony." Kyungsoo counterattacked. He had regretted it the second it left his lips.

"Easy for you to say, you're an artist. Artists live in their own world. Head up in the clouds like always." He pointed to Chanyeol's portrait amongst all the others decorating the blanket, "Speaking of which...do you love him?"

"What? You know he's my best friend."

"I asked if you loved him, not if he was your best friend. He could be your cousin for all I care." Jongin arose imminent below the torchlight in his room and his fingers began to dance in mid air, "Do you love him?"

"Obviously." Kyungsoo spat, eyes furrowing in concealed anger.

"Okay. Too easy. Are you IN love with him?"

The shorter recoiled like the question gutted him, "Am I in love with Chanyeol? Is that really what you're asking me right now? What is wrong with you?"

Jongin smiled bitterly and clawed Into the duvet as if to stifle himself, "Well, he's in love with you. Really in love. You can see it in the way he gapes at you all the time." He licked his lips, "I met him only once. That one time, while me and Soojung in were front of him, he could only look at you."

"How doped up are you?" Kyungsoo scowled and turned away.

"I'm sober. For now." Jongin leaned in close, "Do you think I'm lying?"

"About which thing?"

"Which one seems crazier?"

"Chanyeol is—" Kyungsoo was too in awe to fully collect his thoughts. "Me and Chanyeol have something you don't understand. You're deflecting away from your own relationship problems and trying to pry into mine."

The model quirked a brow, "So you admit its a relationship?"

"What do you want me to say? It literally has nothing to do with you. You're being annoying and vague and it's starting to piss me off."

"It's unfair for you to look into my life when I can't look into yours." Jongin said. Kyungsoo could see the fatigue on his face lined with hidden resolution. For once, the shorter didn't label it charming. "The window goes both ways, Hyung."

Kyungsoo distracted himself by pottering with the adornments on the mattress, deciding to stare into a flat face of Chanyeol rather than Jongin's very close, very real one. He wished the chipped embankment would cave and engulf them both alive, "So, you came here to vent about your self inflicted issues and then judge me for mine? Why did you really come here?"

"Why do you keep letting me in?"

Kyungsoo discarded the photo with a fueled toss and perked up in explosive fury, "Is this some mental game? Can you just explain to me what the hell you're talking about?" He could see the shock on Jongin's face, "I don't know what you want from me! I'm not Soojung, and I don't know what you want me to say or do. You just showed up here out of the blue for no fucking reason."

Kyungsoo's mind whirred and clicked in place, sending him through a flashback of months ago. Months ago when they were acquaintances. When there was an unwavering lie Kyungsoo had told himself to excuse himself in the era of infatuation. He had deemed the experience of Jongin as temporary, all fleeting and beautiful under an impenetrable smile. Then, in the wintry season, time and time again after his dance with smoke and anguished truth, he finally felt the model was permanent, but now, he could only look at the model feebly and say, "I don't know why I keep letting you in." While thinking maybe, Jongin would be temporary again.

The model was shaking as if a storm had passed through, and for once his hands stopped dancing alongside the emptiness as he got up to leave.

"When I come back. Don't let me in alright?"

The photographer stared with stinging eyes as Jongin disappeared out of sight. 

The remnants of his project laid in the space between their two fenestellas. Distant and loosely dropped like discarded wings. Jongin had thrown them out and let them flutter down, down, down into the abyss.

He cried too, that same night. Paris lonesome again in his immortal woes.

__________

One month later

___________

Developpe, Echappe, Grand Jete...

So many stretched out hands, unspoken words, dodged glances, inhales of soot and smog. Kyungsoo entered the cafe hearing the soft ringing above his head and the distant English from the barista. He bought a hot coffee.

"Where's your friend?" The worker asked as he handed Kyungsoo the piping drink.

"My friend?"

"The tall one."

"Oh." Kyungsoo didn't know what to say. "Different schedules. Busy."

"I see." The kind man said, wiping his hands off on his apron and retreating behind the counter. Kyungsoo decided not to sit in today, and went to exit through the glass door.

Times could change so suddenly, it seemed. To Kyungsoo, life had gone to specific company to nothing besides the ordinary. It was sitting in class, fighting the winter wind, and returning to his favorite coffee shop for a small break. Kyungsoo would use his free time to people watch down the winding streets, faces covered with cloth and white breath as they moseyed through the skyhigh buildings and hidden alleyways. The photographer was used to being alone. He was used to being a foreigner, though, it had almost been too long for him to use that excuse anymore.

Kyungsoo lingered down the boulevard where boutique shops and stands decorated the path, dangling potted plants overhead and the sweet aroma of carb-filled foods. It was the same avenue that he walked down numerous times, usually to order an overpriced drink from a coffee shop other than his usual, and walk arm-in-arm with the two models who were linked at his side like extra limbs. Down the arteries of urban paradise, the memories were haunting him, clinging to him the way they did. Wraiths and whispers, now infiltrated by the noise of vehicles and vendors that spoke overlapping french. 

There was a terrace that was used more like a rail, the higher the road raised into the city sky, icy cold to the touch and kissing the open range of the superstructures crowning the world. It appeared as if the city lights stole the stars right out of the sky and twinkled in their place. Kyungsoo edged up the stairs and huddled into his muffler, shielding his lips from the drop in tempurature now that he was elevated to the view. It was the incertitude of the dark cityscape that almost made him forget he was hours from Seoul, standing above the obscured blackness and drops of glow, even an illusion was comforting. He reached out to touch the metal pole, recoiling his fingers at the numbing pain, just to feel what he felt all that time ago. The same iciness he felt when Jongin danced his fingers over it, laughing and letting his skin flush red from the sting. Soojung at his side, letting her face drop into a playful smile for only a moment. 

Kyungsoo thought about bringing out his camera, as if he could steal the image from his mind, like it was right in front of him, and project it into the physical realm. As he fumbled around in his pockets, he realized he didn't bring it. For once, he forgot a part of himself. 

Kyungsoo's sighed a brash, "That's a first." Which struck him, falsely, as bit dishonest in it's insinuation of innocence. He knew the truth—which was that it was never about anything in Paris. In his brief moment of pride, he immediately flinched and ran down the steps.

As his legs carried him across blocks and blocks of iced concrete, he asked the stars and the sky and moon and sun, why Jongin's and Soojung's faces were everywhere around him even when he wasn't behind the camera. When he wasn't at his window, or inhaling the vapor of fallacious longevity. When he got home he went straight to the window and slammed it shut. I'm not letting you in. I'm not letting you in. I'm not letting you in.

\-----------

Chanyeol did not pick up his calls. One, two, three were missed at the dial tone with the sickening offense of the message machine. Kyungsoo sighed, tossing the device to the opposite side of the bed and laying down. His walls were barren now, all chipped and cracked ugly like time clawed the foundation in animalistic strokes; Barren pots remained in clay lumps on the wooden floor. It felt like utter incompleteness. He was back to square one, the world just as gray and predictable as it was over a year ago. A knock at the door made him jump up, and the plank opened to reveal the curious leer of his roommate.

"Hey, Kyungsoo?" The blonde man asked. He lifted up something through the opening that resembled a dirty, downtrodden portfolio. "I found these down in the alley while I was taking out the trash. Are they yours?"

"What are they?"

Four filthily stained photos were handed to him, and now he could see they were what was left of his project. The project that he never bothered getting back when he saw it laying between Jongin's place and his own. He gave the man a weak smile, "Oh. Thank you."

"I'm sorry the weather got to them, they must have been dropped out of your school bag or something."

"Yeah." Kyungsoo watched him leave, and for the second time, the horrid pictures were thrown aside like poison. He could see them sprawled out from his bed, fronting him through laminated shine and lack of color.

The first one he had taken was faced up, as if to remind the photographer of its importance. The prying and meddling at the entrance, ogling the man behind it with large black intent and a camera to steal his mental acquisition. An empty framework with pane, pastel blue curtains, dancing, ash on the thicket, the perfume of intoxicant and seductiveness. Kyungsoo had stared inside and wondered. Who, what and why? The beginning of the chapter was all about himself. Another pointless game played in spiritless pleasure.

Jongin smiling with the marigold was slightly tucked underneath the others, mucky and smudged where only his teeth were visible. It was about ballet fingers, laughter over the rooftops of thrift stores and along the smog infested streets, the sound of jazz and smeared gloss as Jongin kissed Soojung on the subway, it was projection and the warmth that came with feeling embodied, whole. It was the way Jongin smoldered rouge under the city lights, when he was the most beautiful. Soojung was the flower seized in his hand, and Kyungsoo was the flower too. Imperceivable glass hidden in the satiny petals. Kyungsoo suddenly felt the urge to cry.

He looked over at the third one. It was the furthest from the bedside, sheathed halfway under his tied curtain. It was Jongin again, skinny and hard-lined below the scrutiny of the 35mm. Existing exactly the way it was perceived: gray, with tickles of black. Neediness. Sorrow. Unveiled truth. The window was finally, and completely stepped through.

Then the final piece of the puzzle right next to it, the window with the dried flower. Loss. Grief. Finality. A beautiful goodbye.

"So, the flower is the man in this photo?" His professor had asked.

Kyungsoo shook his head, "No. The flower represents the people. We're all the flower."

"Interesting. Why isn't he representative of the flower? He is so joyous in the second photo, and by the end he is frowning and the flower is dead. Doesn't it seem to be connected to him as well?"

"Connected, yes. But he isn't the flower himself, he merely holds it and watches it wither. We're connected to him so we are all the flower he holds." The class was staring at him, silent, he gulped, "We are the marigold, filled with glass, watching him through the window. When we find the truth..."

His professor cleared his throat, "You die when you find the truth? What is the truth?"

"The truth is reality. The window is clear and empty in the first one because we are anticipating what his life entails, then we find the surface level romanticization of his life where everything is springtime, then you find the hard truism and the harsh fabrication of it all. That's why I used the black and white to make that one more of a gray, since it's supposed to be muddled. In the end, everything is clear again and the light is gone. We had gotten what we wanted."

"Which was?"

"To live and die as someone else. To see every angle through one opening."

The class applauded at that, seeming to understand his words despite the rough translation and shaking voice. His professor grinned and gave him the photographs back, "Ever the artist, Kyungsoo. Amazingly put. Though, it's a bit eerie isn't it? Unlike your past work."

Kyungsoo flushed as students giggled and muttered amongst themselves, and he nodded, "Ive been inspired by different things lately."

"You did well. But the darkness of an artists mind can be a dangerous place, so don't meddle in there too often. Okay Kyungsoo?"

The photographer recalled finding it strange for a teacher to say something so shallow, but he hummed a yes regardless.

And now he was here, hanging up the four disastrous prints on his impoverished wallpaper. They were the only things inhabiting the space now, positioned over the enamel that trapped him there inside his thoughts and cursed destiny as an artist. What a burden it was, to be anything close to an obsessive person.

_________

Winter was beckoning it's end, breathing it's last Icy breath across Europe as the trees stood bare and the pavement thawed into muddy concrete. His campus was lively with students huddling together in long pea coats and voices of merriment, like it was a celebration of December's final slumber, and Christmas break.

Christmas had become only a word on his lips, a forgotten concept, and a call from his parents now that he was across the globe. His holiday gift was money to stay afloat a little longer, and he thanked them, letting out a sigh of relief at the fact he could pay bills on time without the glare of his housemates. He was asked about college, about the food and the music, about the possibility of a European girlfriend, and about his photography.

"We heard you were featured in a magazine?"

"Only one. And I had help with that."

"You could always come back home. So many models here would love to be shot by you!" His mom chirped. Naive.

"It's alright. I don't really care about magazines anymore, mom."

"Are you going to visit home for break?" She wondered hopefully, "We all miss you. Your friends stop by sometimes, and they miss you too."

"I miss everyone as well, mom."

Hearing about his friends made his heart do a double flip, and not the good kind.

He found himself only using his camera for school-work or projects, and never for extracurricular, personal interest. Paris, in his heart, was still a cold as ever.

Funnily enough, his professors seemed to like his work better when there was no thought put behind anything he shot, passing him consecutively with flying colors and the occasional murmurs of praise, only to make Kyungsoo feel smaller and weaker under what his art really meant to the world. In his opinion, the lack of open minded freedom was ironic in the land of photography, yet he wanted to pass, and faking expression was easy at this point. Like a second nature.

"Your muses, I haven't seen them in awhile. I see you've turned to landscapes and city streets now." One of his teachers commented as Kyungsoo sat at his desk, leering as his graded work was set in front of him.

"Muses change, to me."

"Do they? You must fall in love awfully fast."

The bell rang, and the class began to pack up and saunter out of the door. Kyungsoo purposefully said nothing and quickly crammed the papers into his backpack. The city of love was frozen solid under December's funeral. Stuck in time, and stuck in its ways of fruitless expectation.

As he wandered to his coffee shop, he saw a wooden signed hanging on the glass door: CLOSED FOR RECONSTRUCTION.

He blinked, inquiring how he had just seen this now. And where was he going to go now on his day off? As he stood stiffly at the dead end, another shadow lurked beside him.

"Sad, right? They're going out of business."

Kyungsoo whirled around to observe the stature of a man in his late twenties, who had matted black hair and handsomely aged features, the man had talked to him in Korean, and it took the photographer a whole second before the shock subsided and he could reply.

"Yeah, I had no idea they were going to close." He shoved his hands into his trouser pockets, feeling shy suddenly. "I'd like to believe that I helped them stay open a bit longer. Anything to help the family out."

The man chuckled, looking like a movie star in his pressed suit and clean shoes, Kyungsoo could see now that he was carrying a suitcase. He didn't seem like the kind of man who would loiter there at all, he looked like he belonged in front of a museum, or somewhere where he could propose a sales plan in a big room. He was grinning, "I'm sure you did. You came a lot, I recognized you. I used to be in the corner on my laptop every other day. It was like coming to work except I got to have coffee and a pastry along with tedious wage slavery. I doubt you'd remember me, though."

"You...you speak Korean. How is it that I've only been meeting people from home, now?" Kyungsoo wondered aloud with a meek laugh. "At the same coffee shop no less. It's nice to meet you, I'm Do Kyungsoo."

"I thought the same, I'm Kim Junmyeon." He held out his hand, looking like the poster boy of a law firm. Kyungsoo returned it with a polite bow. "There's a lot of kids that study abroad here, considering you spoke English and French fluently to the baristas, I knew you weren't a tourist."

"Do tourists frequent coffee shops for months?" Kyungsoo joked.

"I guess not." Junmyeon actually looked a little embarrassed, rubbing a hand behind his neck. "I should have probably said something sooner, but I didn't want to seem weird."

"It's okay. Are you here on a job?" The photographer asked, sizing up the formal attire.

"Yeah, kind of a business trip turned permanent. Well, semi-permanent. I work in finances, lots of boring stuff I don't want to get into." The man shrugged, "I know another coffee shop that is just as good. It's a little further, but it's family owned and they make all their cakes by hand. You want to try it out?"

"You want me to go with you?" Kyungsoo raised a brow.

"Only if you want to. Drinks are on me." The latter offered, flushing a little. December was a little warmer now, and Kyungsoo nodded.

"Uh, sure then. Lead the way."

Junmyeon was the color of the ocean. He was deep and blue, but in the shallow ends he was emerald and sprinkled with gleaming foam and clarity. There were layers to him, and Kyungsoo, in time, found they were very easy to pull back. The business man was someone who had too much money with no one to spend it on, too many thoughts with no one to tell them to, and too much love with nobody to reciprocate. He was giving, like a lottery that spit out green even if none of the slots aligned. It was a little sad, and Kyungsoo found someone else who looked like him behind darting pupils and twitching hands. Another shard of glass in the full length mirror that was his life.

Junmyeon was also the first person he had met that cowered from the camera.

"I'm not photogenic." He whined on a day that signified the birth of holiday spirit, cloudy in the moments of revival. There was no more suits and ties when they met up for coffee, and it was all replaced with domestic fixation. Frankly put, he was Kyungsoo's only current friend. The only person who was beside him as the clock ticked into the new year, In his white shirt and rolled up jeans, Junmyeon hid his face behind two rough hands. "Seriously, I'm not. Stop!"

Kyungsoo brought the camera down with a smirk, "You look at yourself in every mirror or reflective surface we pass by, and now you're acting modest? I don't believe you."

"You're bullying me."

"A little. Now put down your hands!"

Junmyeon never refused anything, or anyone. He lowered his hands and gave him an uncomfortable side smile, looking absolutely ridiculous for someone who met every beauty standard. He flinched as Kyungsoo guffawed, "You're laughing!"

"You're making this look like your middle school yearbook photo! Just look normal!"

"I can't! How?"

"Just be natural, let your face drop." Kyungsoo brought it back up to his eye, finger hovering over the flash.

"Drop?" Junmyeon repeated, then pulled his face down into an exaggerated frown.

Kyungsoo took the photo anyway, shaking his head, "You're unbelievably bad at this." As the picture popped up on the screen, Junmyeon came over to observe it with a hot hand clasped over his shoulder.

"Wow, I'm such a model." He laughed, saying nothing else as Kyungsoo nearly doubled over at the sight. His heart was so full, overflowing onto the wood and suffocating Kyungsoo with unrequited fondness, waves lapping at the misty shore, soaking his pants and bleeding dark into the fabric of quiet suffering and endless night. They were so similar, and Kyungsoo could do nothing to aid him.

"I'm definitely printing this."

"Hang it up on your walls, they're so empty. I don't know how you can sleep in a room like this to be honest." Junmyeon said, glancing around and gesturing vaguely into the air. "You can put it next to those other ones. With the guy and the flower."

Kyungsoo stilled at that, "Too much clutter makes it hard to think. I know from experience."

"Yeah, but no clutter is suffocating. Like a ghost lives here." Junmyeon walked over to the window, "You should put flowers back up too, since you have all these pots. It would help, I think."

"I'm not home enough to water them. They always die."

"Buy the plants that don't need as much care. You probably only bought ones that looked pretty, without any knowledge of how they stay alive." He said, "You seem to be a sucker for beauty, but you don't want to handle all the ugly parts of it."

The photographer rolled his eyes, "I tried to water them, so don't lecture me on house keeping. I've been to your place and it looks like a tornado ran through it a hundred times over."

Junmyeon opened the window, and it creaked as dust flew off into the air in little sparkles and the smell of stale dirt. Kyungsoo immediately sat up panicked. The window was open, would Jongin know? His heart was squeezing like it was about to burst, and he watched with wide eyes as Junmyeon simply leaned out and inhaled the fresh air.

"Kind of sucks your bedroom faces the apartments next door, you can only see your neighbors window and this alleyway. No view at all." He commented, peering down. "And there's only the sound of cars and noisy people. You don't get to see what living in Paris can really be like. It's better than this."

"Not everyone can afford to live in the pricey area of town. Plus, you're still messier."

"That's my roommate, not me. And plus, you were only over once when we had to go and find my wallet. So it's not like you know how it nice it usually is."

Kyungsoo was still staring at the open window, tapping a foot. He decided to focus on the camera again, swallowing, "Well, my place wasn't always this depressing either. Things change."

"Yeah, they do."

"Anyways, let me take a real picture of you before I have to kick you out to finish my homework. Old man."

"Don't say that, that makes me feel creepy hanging out with you." Junmyeon finally stepped away, planting himself where he was before in front of the other. "Just take it. No guarantee it'll be what you want though."

"I just want to capture this." Kyungsoo clicked the button before Junmyeon could overthink and look dorky again, and the picture came out with the business man looking into the lens with a blank simper.

"Capture what?"

"Whatever this is."

Whatever that feeling was. The one that made him want to keep going, and the one that made him feel like Paris could be home. What feeling was that? Why couldn't he feel it again?

"Hey, before I go, I was thinking we could go out this week. Have you ever gone to a club here?" Junmyeon spoke soft like the question would scare him away, "If not, we could go. Or we could go see the Eiffel Tower and have a picnic. Up to you, if you like less populated areas."

"The Eiffel Tower is less populated? It's a tourist gold mine." Kyungsoo chortled and shook his head. "But...if I'm free, I wouldn't mind."

The latter beamed at that, heading toward the door, "Cool! Just let me know. We could work something out on a day neither of us are busy." Junmyeon hovered in the archway, "I'll see you later?"

"Yeah, later. I'll call you." Kyungsoo nodded and watch the other smile and disappear down the stairwell. All the photographer could think about was the window. The window was wide open. He needed to close it.

As he rushed back to do that exact thing, he found Jongin.

Jongin. Jongin again. Back curved over the terrace, cigarette in hand, hair wired and angled over his forehead in mangled strings. The model had an unreadable look as Kyungsoo barged into the evening air, eyes hot and breaths heavy, and Kyungsoo hardly had enough time to be mortified before he impulsively asked in his gravelly, unsteady voice: "What are you doing out here?"

Jongin looked at him as if were insane, "I live here, Hyung."

"I-" Kyungsoo lowered his hands and left the slider open. He bit at his lips, "Yeah, you're right."

The model studied him with narrow eyes, much skinnier than the last time Kyungsoo had seen him. Paler, too. He reached down into his pocket with bony fingers and took out the cigarette carton, and for the first time, offered Kyungsoo one.

"Want one?"

The photographer failed to hide his shock and beating heart, stretching to take it. He nearly fell, but it wasn't the first time nor the last time they would exchange things dangerously through the two windows. He gave Jongin a polite gesture, "Uh, thanks."

"You're going to need a light, too." Jongin said, amused but dead-eyed in his delivery.

"I'll just use the stove." Kyungsoo wedged the smoke behind his ear.

"Oh, you're one of those people? The behind the ear thing? So lame, Hyung."

"I need both my hands."

"You look like a little kid who stole one of his dads cigarettes and is showing it off."

"Then how do you carry it?"

"My mouth. And then I smoke it."

"I'm not in that much of a rush to smoke it. I have homework to do." Kyungsoo wasn't sure why he was even entertaining this conversation. Or why he glanced down at Jongin's lips as the smoke bobbed up and to the side. He moved to close the window again, "Thanks for the cigarette."

"Wait." Jongin almost appeared hurried. "I left something at your place but I've been forgetting to get it. Let me come over and find it."

"I can just throw it over."

"It's too valuable, it'll break if I drop it. I'll just get it, okay?"

"Why can't I drop it off for you?"

Jongin smirked, "Hyung, it'll take two seconds. I'll be in and out."

"Fine. The doors unlocked."

It was the rawest kind of withdrawal. Push and pull, push and pull with tremors and chattering teeth. Jongin was in his room again, smoking indoors the way Kyungsoo hated, stalking close to the walls as if he wasn't even meant to be seen. The model was transformed back into a translucent shadow.

"You hung those." He said, pointing with the end of his smoke at the four pictures hanging. "They look busted up."

"Someone tossed them three stories down." Kyungsoo sneered.

The model was silent before he turned to see Kyungsoo's expression of dolor. He looked away and rubbed a finger on the smudged project, "Guessing by that face, I did it?"

"Like you don't remember."

"No. I don't." Jongin let his hand drop, "I was probably..."

"Yeah." Kyungsoo sat on the bedside and tried to control his face, "I figured."

Jongin inhaled, Kyungsoo exhaled. The model was eerily still, stagnant in his posture. "I don't remember what I said when I came over, but I know it wasn't good. So whatever it was about, I'm sorry." He confessed.

"You really don't remember anything?"

"Bits and pieces. But, let's just say I only knew not to come over when I saw your window shut."

Kyungsoo screwed his eyes closed, opened them again, his heart was shaking under his ribs, rattling in his ears like deafening white noise. "I don't know if that makes it worse or better at this point. But, I guess the real fact still stands." He muttered, "I let you back in when I wasn't supposed to."

"I lied about leaving something here."

Kyungsoo let out a pitiful laugh, "I know."

"I just needed to apologize to you." Jongin babbled on, emitting smoke like a dragon. He sauntered to the window and tossed the cigarette out, "And I was curious."

"About what?"

"That guy. He's a couple years older than us, sometimes he wears a fancy suit." Jongin spit unfiltered tobacco out of the opening, "Hes been over a lot. I see him walking past to come to your place. You guys are, what, friends?"

"Yeah we are. Is this another interrogation?"

"No. That's all I'm asking." Jongin raised his hands in defense, taking a seat on the corner of the cot a foot away from where Kyungsoo was placed, "I really am sorry, Hyung. I hope you can forgive me."

"You're sorry, but you don't even know what you said to me. How can I believe that?"

"I don't want to hurt you. I never did, ever. That's the last thing I'd ever want to do."

"You wanted to hurt me the second you came through that door." Kyungsoo pressed his lips together in repressed anger. "You were unhappy so you wanted someone else to be unhappy, and I was dumb enough to let you in. You only came that day because Soojung wasn't there."

"Hyung, how can you say that?" Jongin looked like a wounded animal.

He felt like a million daggers were in his chest, and words kept spilling out against his will, "I keep letting you in, over and over. And you keep coming. Why? I don't know how to deal with this anymore. I'm completely and utterly alone now."

"You're not alone." Jongin whispered. "Hyung, I'm sorry for what I said and for what I did. I'm not used to...this. You don't do any of the messed up shit I do, and you're well rounded. People love you because you're just a nice, genuine person. I'm so damn jealous, and I look up to you. It comes out in these awful moments of projection. I'm sorry, I don't know how to keep a healthy relationship."

Kyungsoo stared at him, observing the way he shook like a tiny leaf, his eyes too dry to produce any tears, "You're the most beautiful person I've ever met, so I don't know why you feel that way." He said.

It was such a Jongin thing to do, to say something so significant with no fear underneath. Yet, it was Kyungsoo this time. Breaking under the pressure. Under the foot of loneliness and abyssal loss.

Jongin was so wrecked, and so so so perfect as he closed their distance, landing a kiss in the corner of Kyungsoo's mouth, too slow to be chaste but too short to be passionate. He tasted like smoke and wiped off lipstick. As blood rushed to his cheeks, Kyungsoo immediately shot away and scrambled off the sheets to stand. It felt like the color red, like the sunsets they watched every night. Blood orange, marigold yellow, white and pink like summer and spring.

"I'm sorry." Jongin said, quiet.

Kyungsoo put a hand up to his face to feel the heat radiating off, "You're too impulsive."

"Not really. I've been wanting to kiss you for months." He said, face flat. "Id like to give you a real one someday."

"You're crazy." Kyungsoo almost felt the hysterical urge to break into laughter, it was too absurd. "We can't do stuff like that, Jongin."

"Why not? You don't like me?"

"We just can't." He shook his head and paced in circles. It felt as if he was high this time, crimson racing through his veins in wild strides, eyes large and darting around like he wasn't sure where to look. He ran his hand through his short hair, "I just told you why we won't work. We just won't. You come over because of Soojung, and I let you in because—"

Jongin sat impassively, "Because why?"

"Because we're friends! I thought we were friends. But you think different."

"Friends?" The other barked out a cynical laugh, "Don't act like you weren't using me as your school projects and documenting my every little move. You used me for character development like I was some manic pixie girl. The window goes both ways."

Kyungsoo didn't want to behold those words again and instead squinted out into nothing, the vast pathos of his actuality crumbled around him, falling apart in minuscule pieces, tearing the paint off the walls and ripping the cotton out of the pillows, his own clothes seemed to fly out into the sailing wind. Shattering at the scathing, weighted accusation that spilled out of Jongin's lips. God, he knew exactly what the boy meant. He had been living that lie every moment of his waking life.

When he moved to Paris there was something valuable in his essence that had fled. So near he could steal it back, if only he wasn't blind to what it could possibly be. Every point he slugged out of bed, to look into his own eyes and know his gaze had inexplicably shifted into something darker. To every time he passed by a mirror and felt it wasn't him but instead, was Soojung mooning back. To his best friend, who he should feel smitten for but instead he was greedy and numb to the succumbing flood of affection and love. To Jongin, who opened his subconscious and picked it apart to reveal the rawest form of eclectic quiddity. Was it all selfishness? An act in vain?

"I think you're just as lonely and sad as me, and you let me in because I make you feel alive." Jongin added, eyes blacker than night.

"We are bad for eachother."

"Says who?"

"Me. I say so. You're just going to compare me to Soojung and I'm going to wait around for you until you stop. And it won't stop. So, we won't work." Kyungsoo was whispering, waiting for his words to be taken by the deafening silence. "I threw all the pictures I had of you away."

"Not those ones." Jongin peered back over to the four hanging on the wall. They were nearly consumed by all the emptiness.

"No. But you threw those away. I just scraped them back up because that's what I always do. I clean up your messes." He added.

"I think you might actually hate me."

"No. I don't." Kyungsoo stopped moving and went back to the bed. "I hate that you kissed me. You're so fucking impulsive and you don't ever think about the future."

"It didn't mean anything." The model said quickly, he never looked unnerved, even when he was shaking and rattling from the pills, or lethargic and half awake from all the French wine.

Jongin was someone who was clumsily put together like a puzzle with missing pieces, but his eyes looked sharp and intentional, like it was all an act and the world was being played. It pissed Kyungsoo off in moments like this. Moments where even HE couldn't compose himself and remain stoic like he wanted, the model just brought that out in him.

Jongin reached over and swiped the cigarette from behind his ear, "I changed my mind. I really don't want you to smoke this."

"Were you even listening?"

"I listen to everything you say." Jongin put the cigarette in the crook of his own ear. "I'm not high off my ass either, if that's what you meant. I'll remember this conversation for as long as I'll live, probably."

"You're being dramatic. You'll forget it by tomorrow. I feel like half the shit I'm saying is stuff you don't even bother caring about." Kyungsoo said wearily.

He wondered if tonight Jongin was going to sleep over, then leave in the morning to abandon it all, or maybe this really was the last time the model would step foot in this place.

Jongin edged closer to him, magnetic like how they were the second they met, "I do care, and I know you're right, I know you're right about everything. But...I think you're wrong about things never changing. I think they can change. I can change. I have before, and I can again. I'm not going to be like this forever."

"I don't have years to wait, Jongin." Kyungsoo pleaded. So weak, always so weak. A lie.

"I know." Jongin replied, leaning in for the second time to land his kiss right.

_________

Paris in transition from winter to spring was best viewed during the red sunsets. Rows of illusionary fire and darkness peeking behind corners, wafting in with a faint scent of coffee and pastries. The asphalt was icy again with a light mist in the air, but Kyungsoo wasn't brought down by the overcast. He wasn't sure what street he was on, or what time it was, but for some giddy reason he felt more inspired than ever. It might be a contact high, except Jongin claimed to be reaching sobriety. Maybe it was regaining something he lost, but he was certain he didn't lose anything. Maybe it was an infatuation with an evasive idea.

  
Perhaps he had collapsed into a romance, overlooking everything so that he could hold the camera to his eye and snap, snap, snap. Daylight, smoke, fatigue. Maybe it wasn't romance. Maybe it was tragedy, just as Jongin said before.

"Wow. This place has changed." Junmyeon commented as he walked into Kyungsoo's bedroom, rotating around like he was in a gallery. He was still dressed in his work clothes, poised and clean, unlike the chaos painting the walls, he set down his suitcase and smoothed out his jacket, "Did you have an artistic breakdown since the last time I saw you?"

Probably, Kyungsoo wanted to say. Instead he just snorted and shrugged on his coat, "I told you, things change." As he fingered the pocket he felt cardboard and smooth rolled paper, this was Jongin's coat. He had left his carton behind. The photographer ignored it and slung the camera over his neck, "Does it bother you? You said you wanted it to be more decorated remember?"

Junmyeon seemed to be in jumbled awe, yet he always had a pliant smile, "I did. I like this. It looks more alive this way, and you can really showcase your art better." He turned and caressed a photo of Soojung and Jongin, "Who are they? They're beautiful."

"Old friends. Kind of. That's an old picture, I'm not sure why I still have it or why I hung it up, to be honest."

"Sounds like you aren't too fond of them."

"Fond? I am fond. It was just a different time." Kyungsoo didn't want to get into that, and he quickly made a show that he was ready to leave. Junmyeon was still leering at the picture, and for some reason it made him nervy. "Come on, Hyung. Let's go." He urged.

Junmyeon finally fronted him, smiling perpetually, "What? Oh, yeah. Coming."

Sunlight nestled itself into the crooks of the Eiffel Tower, hot and cloyingly bright in the sky, the fields surrounding it littered with small groups of people with their blankets open and baskets filled to the brim with bread and cheese. It was so cliche, and Kyungsoo had milked everything out of the scene the second he moved here. Fresh-faced Kyungsoo had a tourists eye, which now, was tragically uninspiring. Junmyeon fanned out their sheet and laid it atop the grass while Kyungsoo just watched and tried to feel like he belonged. In a strange intrusive passing, he thought about Chanyeol. This is something Chanyeol would do. This is not something Jongin would do. His mind was a war zone.

"I brought pasta because you said you liked it. Wine too, but I don't know if you drink." The man sounded winded as he opened the picnic basket to show him. Everything was organized so nicely, so neatly without any rough edges or flaws.

Kyungsoo nodded, "I drink sometimes. This is nice, thank you."

"So i take it, you've probably done this before." Junmyeon said, giggling and taking out their plates. "You have the face of someone who's a little embarrassed to be here. Is this not underground or indie enough?"

"Shut up. I'm just not used to...this."

"To picnics?"

"Dates." Kyungsoo stated. Blunt and honest, the only way he knew how. He avoided the man's gaze by taking the bowl of noodles out and grabbing the bottle by the nose. "I haven't gone on any since I've been here. I don't know how to act."

Junmyeon was pink in the face as he watched Kyungsoo pop open the drink, "You acted fine when we got coffee all those times. And that time at the art museum." He commented.

He poured the tinted drink into the glasses and nested it back inside the woven casing. Kyungsoo was furrowing his brows, "Those were dates?"

"Yes. I thought so, I guess I didn't come on strong enough. I'm really bad at flirting."

"Oh. Well, me too." He lifted his glass to cheers, and for some reason, the image of Soojung and Jongin raising theirs up flashed in his psych. Why was he thinking of that? Junmyeon, callowless, clinked his own glass on Kyungsoo's with a gentle tap.

"Cheers. To being bad at flirting."

"Cheers, Hyung." Kyungsoo smiled.

Their glasses of wine gleamed under the daylight, dripping in condensation and tension as Kyungsoo sat in total rigidity, failing to disguise his malaise as he sipped away at the sugary substance. Junmyeon on the other hand, looked completely at ease.

The bittersweet taste of alcohol was a familiar stranger on Kyungsoo's tongue. It was like remembering a dream he had as a child, where he could only recall and color and texture of something, but later it comes to life under his fingers or over his palate in a hallucinogenic reality. Warmth pulsed in his belly, and he knew that feeling all too well. He was drinking to forget something.

He took another swig, feeling zoomed in under the latter's boggling view.

"You're going to get drunk alone at that pace." Junmyeon pointed at Kyungsoo's half empty glass with a knowing mask. "It'll take me a lot longer to catch up."

The shorter shrugged loosely, "I know my limit. I'm naturally a heavyweight."

"I thought you said you only drink sometimes."

"That's still true. It's been almost a year." Kyungsoo confirmed at the edge of his drink, "But I was always good at handling my alcohol."

Junmyeon hummed at that and held up his sheer cup in a secondary act of a cheers, the liquid sloshed gently at the collision of their glasses and another satisfying 'clink' rang in the air. He then took a solid swig, groaning as his face distorted into an awkward grimace. Kyungsoo let himself grin at the sight, since it was almost deemed impossible for the other to make a face like that, given his genes. Not that he would ever admit that.

"You don't like the taste, do you?" Kyungsoo queried, finishing the rest of his glass.

"You do? You must have the soul of an old man. No one likes the taste, they drink it to get drunk." The other said.

"You're dumb." He laughed. Grabbing the bottle and pouring a refill for himself, sparing some only for the sake of sharing. "That's what inexperienced drinkers say. Trust me on that."

Junmyeon wet his lips, eyebrows pulled together. "I've been through college and have done my fair share of drinking. Trust me, I'm not inexperienced. I'm just truthful."

The skin on Kyungsoo's exposed neck pricked up as a cold gust blew tentatively, and he smoothed the goosebumps down to nurse his new full drink with surging impatience. His face was hot, "My friends from home would say the same thing. They drink to get drunk, and don't bother savoring anything."

Junmyeon sighed, "I think being in your 20's is just rarely being sober. Know what I mean?" He took the wine bottle and dropped the leftover alcohol into his own glass. Kyungsoo could feel him tapping his foot on the blanket. "Party culture is unavoidable. A lot of my coworkers go to bars every single weekend. Every single weekend! I don't know how they do it."

Kyungsoo shook his head and scowled down into the dark liquid with flashbacks swimming around in his head. He couldn't remember the last time he partook in 'party culture'. At least in the way Junmyeon was talking about. Maybe high school? Again, Jongin manifested into his head and he wondered if Jongin considered his own lifestyle to be something as simple as party culture. Or if he was more aware than that. Snapping out of his daze, he peered up to see the man chug his whole cup, throat bobbing as a some of the substance trickled down his jawline in a red line.

"You say that, but I just saw you down that whole thing in under ten seconds."

He slammed the empty glass down in his act of victory. Then raised his hand to erase any evidence on his face, and the shorter could see the rosy hue under his complexion, framing an uncharacteristic smirk.

"This is a special occasion. Plus, I told you I had to keep up with you right?"

"You're ahead of me now."

"No." The other gestured to their drinks. "That's your third. That was my second."

Kyungsoo eyed his alcohol suspiciously then, as if he had no control over how much appeared within the confines. "Oh, well, we're only a drink apart. It's not that much." He said. "Should I stop?"

Junmyeon had an unreadable energy around him as he reached for the bottle again. "Why are you asking me? It's your decision." Another cup filled without hesitation.

"I just, um, I don't want to drink too much."

"Afraid you'll answer some of my questions if you get too comfortable?"

Kyungsoo felt a pang of annoyance, "No."

"Liar."

"Hurry up and drink."

"You're always in a rush." Junmyeon brought the edge to his lips, breath fanning over the surface. "You always have places to be. Things to do. So busy..."

Kyungsoo moved across the basket to push up the bottom of his glass, leaving Junmyeon to sputter as he spit wine all over his front and onto the shorter's hand. Kyungsoo could only recoil in lighthearted disgust as the latter dribbled and guffawed into the expanse.

"Jeez, kind of harsh right?" He yanked out the spare napkins and dabbed his shirt with it, glowing. Always diverted.

"It's deserved." Kyungsoo wiped his hand off over the material of his jeans, guilt swallowed by an overwhelming sense of drunken humor. He drank some more, face incredulously hot now, like a furnace. The air suddenly felt like a humid, icy cloak around him.

"You're actually getting drunk. I've never seen you get that playful. Or maybe it was purely evil intentions, I can never tell with you." Junmyeon rambled, tossing the used towels aside on the cloth. He didn't continue his attempt at drinking, and instead he surveyed Kyungsoo as the shorter topped off his fourth drink of the night.

"Still care about getting too drunk?"

Kyungsoo ran a hand through his lack of hair, self aware of how his body buzzed and radiated warmth under the sky. The hidden stars were there and whispering amongst themselves. "Of course I care." He spat impishly.

"I just really wasn't planning on getting shitfaced in broad daylight."

"Then why did you bring so much?"

"Ambience?" Junmyeon offered meekly, "Aesthetic? I don't know. I thought art students liked stuff like that."

"First of all, do you really think we're the only ones day drinking in Paris?" Kyungsoo was brash with his words, "Also, art students don't care as much as you think about that sort of thing, especially when alcohol is involved."

"You're probably right. I just don't want to lose my cool."

"You were never cool, Hyung." He smiled.

"Cool enough to have you come here with me." Junmyeon pursed his lips, mirroring him. "Let's eat and then walk around wasted like a couple of degenerates, yeah?"

"Sounds good."

There wasn't as much walking as they originally intended after all, since Kyungsoo found himself pressed against the door of his bedroom not even an hour later by the man. Fumbling and grabbing at hot skin and a sense of urgency to get out of his jeans, the alcohol was pulsing throughout his body, along with the nagging sense that this was a mistake. But god, he was lonely.

And he was angry. Angry at Jongin and the whole world. The thought of the model made something within him boil and gnaw and bite with searing fire. He wanted to scream into the void, but that was numbed by Junmyeon pushing him on the bed and straddling him.

"Kyungsoo, take these off." The latter mumbled against his lips, using two fingers to hook his belt loops and tug. Though he was hurried, he wasn't too rough. Nothing about Junmyeon was rough. He was safe. Safe in a way where he could so easily be broken.

"Not yet." Kyungsoo connected their lips once more. If his jeans came off he was afraid that this was real and happening and not just a figment of his imagination. His head was spinning. "It's been...too long. I haven't done this in a long time."

"That's okay." Junmyeon said, settling with just keeping his hands above the waist and holding gently, the act was intimate, and bubbling regret was coming up faster in his throat at the warmth of it all. He opened his mouth to say something but let Junmyeon kiss the words out of him. It reminded him of Chanyeol, the way everything was planned out and feathery, like it was behind a hazy white filter and it was meant to be slow. He thought of Chanyeol when Junmyeon kissed him with desperate softness, but he thought of Jongin when the man's hand came too close to the zipper of his pants. Red sirens were playing, screaming in his brain to end it.

Putting a hand on Junmyeon's chest, he lightly guided the man off, who was breathing heavily, face red and eyes glazed over with a glint akin to neediness.

"Hyung, I can't."

Junmyeon swallowed, "We don't have to."

"I mean, I can't do any of this. I can't give you this." Kyungsoo said, slurring words.

"Oh." Junmyeon stepped away. He looked bewildered and sloppy in his crooked button up, "Why not?"

"You deserve better than a drunk hookup."

"I like you, Kyungsoo, But you don't like me, do you?" He asked softly.

"Not in the way I should."

"I see." Junmyeon had crumbling heartache in his voice, the same kind Chanyeol possessed. What Soojung possessed. What he possessed. It was like hearing something break. The bottle against the brick. Kyungsoo didn't have the mental power to say anything, not even when the man stood there searching for something invisible, and left out of the door with blurry eyes.

He should have stopped him, should have told him not drive home. Should have said anything, but he didn't, and Junmyeon was gone. Just like everyone else.

Kyungsoo opened his window before passing out against his blankets.

______

He awoke to a throbbing pain in his head, and the piercing alarm of his cellphone. Sitting up with a groan, his eyes flickered to the screen to read the unexpected name of Chanyeol. Chanyeol. Chanyeol was calling him, after days of torturous silence.

He scrambled to hold it up to his ear, ignoring the aching in his skull, "Hello?" He said.

"Kyungsoo-yah?"

"Hey." The photographer clenched his eyes shut as a wave of nausea washed over him, he wasn't sure if it was the hangover or the shock of hearing Chanyeol's voice. His body didn't even feel like his own.

"It's been awhile." Chanyeol said.

"Uh, yeah. What's up?" Kyungsoo swallowed, trying again, "Are you okay?"

A quiet moment, before the deep voice erupted again in a withdrawn tone, "I'm okay. Im sorry I didn't call back earlier. I just needed time. I reacted immaturely and I really regret it, so, I'm sorry."

"It's fine."

"No it's not." He cut in again, "You always say that to avoid conflict, but it's not okay. I almost ruined our whole friendship over something stupid. I don't know what I was thinking. Soo, I'm sorry. I expected a lot from you, and obviously we weren't on the same page. Maybe we never were."

Kyungsoo was stunned, and for a juncture he was able to tolerate the drunken aftermath he put himself through, just to absorb what the other was confessing. He swallowed for the what seemed to be the hundredth time, "I...yeah. I don't know what to say. I'm sorry too. I should have been better at a lot of things. I was being selfish. More selfish than you." He laughed weakly, "Why did you decide to call now?"

"Woke up with a horrible hangover and a strange moment of clarity."

"Wow, that's almost identical to my situation here." They chuckled solemnly over the line together, then Kyungsoo frowned, "I really want to come back soon."

"What?"

"I want to go back to Korea."

"Kyungsoo-yah, hasn't Europe been your dream? What about school? I thought...I thought you were happy? Where is this coming from?"

"I meant for winter break, idiot." Kyungsoo laughed again, his head pulsing with each breath. It felt so strange to laugh. "But I really am homesick."

The other let out a relieved sigh, "Your pessimism caught me so off guard. I'm used to the prideful, headstrong you. So, things are actually pretty good over there? You have to be honest with me. It's been too long, I'm out of the loop for once."

"Honest, huh?" He laid down and stared up at the chipped ceiling. Memory is a funny thing, Kyungsoo suddenly thought, as the white paint turned into the familiar shape of cigarette filters and embers, the open space a replica of the apartment complex next door, of magazine pages and projects, of photographs fluttering in the air, falling miles downward into forgotten sludge; Of tobacco kisses, and wine stained lips.

Kyungsoo reigned himself in enough to reply, "Its been interesting."

"That's it?"

"Yeah." He sees Jongin in the doorway then, standing in his baggy clothes and dancing his fingers against the slab of wood, as if summoned by the open window and Kyungsoo's pining weakness. The model had just let himself in. What did he expect, really?

Chanyeol's voice yanked him back from the sight, "Interesting isn't the worst thing, I guess. It's been pretty slow here, but the time I've had to think has given me a chance to work on music. That sounds conceited doesn't it? Maybe this is the wrong time to rant aimlessly about stuff like that."

"I get it."

Kyungsoo watched as Jongin sauntered into the room inch by inch, sending him a stretched smile and a slight wave as if he wasn't the most disorienting thing about this whole morning. He wet his lips, and nodded as Jongin mimed the gesture for 'jacket', which was certainly the one he had worn last night. He pointed to the end of his bed, where it was crumpled and discarded from drunken use.

"Hello?" Chanyeol muttered, "Soo?"

"Sorry." Kyungsoo glanced away from the model in front of him, the one who must have been manifested in his room as a sad spiritual gimmick, or something of the sort. None of it made sense. He closed his eyes as Jongin shrugged the coat on, "I'm just really hungover. I'm really out of it." It wasn't a complete lie, but the guilt was most definitely there.

"Can we revisit this soon? I know I called out of the blue, and that's my fault, but theres more I want to say and I want to talk about it. Okay, Soo? I want to continue this." He went on, "And please come home for winter break. We all miss you, dude."

"Let's talk soon, and yeah, definitely."

"Love you?" He said like a question.

"I..." Kyungsoo opened his eyes to see Jongin trying on the wrinkled jacket in front of his bedside mirror, back afront. He pressed his mouth tightly, "...love you too."

Kyungsoo set down his cell phone, ogling the unseemly view of Jongin in his apartment, who was mindlessly standing a few feet to his left. Another wave of nausea came, causing him to tear his eyes away and lean into the cold compress of his palms.

"Hungover, huh?" Jongin puzzled, still facing his reflection and pushing bent fabric into straight indents. "It's obvious."

"How did you guess, detective?" Kyungsoo retorted as he rubbed the fatigue out of his face in lazy strokes. Hearing the models voice felt like an uncomfortably familiar concept, especially the tone of careless indulgence. It almost sobered him up completely.

"I used telepathy. Just kidding, this jacket just really reeks of wine and sweat. I pegged you to be a much cleanlier guy, Hyung."

"How did you get in here?"

Jongin finally spun away from the mirror to sit next to Kyungsoo, reaching up to graze his back with a cheeky smile.

"Your roomies. They always let me in. How many times are you going to ask me that? Or has it become some kind of reflex?"

"You came for your jacket." Kyungsoo answered himself, subconsciously leaning into the touch of the other as he kept his eyes closed.

Jongin chuckled and rubbed little circles, "I did. It also seems like I ran into an intense phone conversation. You alright?"

"I'm fine. Just drama from back home, I guess that's the easiest way to describe it."

The city was beautiful this time of the year, when the trees that line the roads were shedding, and dry petals were billowing in the morning breeze, spiraling down to the ground that was sprinkled with kisses of white. Kyungsoo thought of how much more beautiful it would be if there wasn't this absolute sense of disaster he had when he was with Jongin. When the model appeared in his room, his porch, his bedside, his view from the window and everything in between, invited yet hardly welcomed. Kyungsoo thought about how it was all backwards. That could merely waltz in here after missing for days, after a kiss, merely to pat him on the back and retrieve his jacket. It was withdrawal again, with the push and pull that seemed endless now. He swore the stars up in the sky were murmuring about the display below, whispering about insolence and repetitive demise.

He also wondered if he should tell Jongin about the phone call with Chanyeol, or if he should leave that part of himself shielded from the prying eyes of the other. How would he explain such a situation? A situation of selfishness and jealousy, and foolish idolization of the man who sat pressed against his thigh this very second?

"Well, if you want to talk, I'm here." Jongin said as he leaned away, choosing to rest on his elbows. He gazed up at the ceiling again, like he always did when he was in Kyungsoo's room. "I have news for you, Hyung. If you need something more positive for this depressing ass morning."

"News?" Kyungsoo faced him and raised a concerned brow. It was weird to listen to Jongin treat him as a friend, and offer any kind of comfort.

"I'm sober. Four days."

"Jongin..."

The model lifted up a dismissive hand, "You don't have to say anything. I don't expect anything from you...except maybe your time. I was thinking we could do something special to celebrate." He then stood up with an unwavering energy about him, "It would be the perfect hangover cure, promise. You want to come over? I have something planned, so you kind of have to say yes."

Kyungsoo rubbed his eyes and blinked up at the other, "You want me to come over? Right now you do?"

"Got anything else planned?"

He had to check on Junmyeon, he had to talk to Chanyeol, he had to start the projects assigned over break for—

Kyungsoo could never say no, "I guess not." He said. "It better be worth it."

_________

The city was also so much more beautiful with Jongin, Kyungsoo admitted internally, capturing the shot where Jongin appeared almost wholesome, holding a tray of bread and coffee as he walked to where the photographer sat. They were on the floor, situated with two used pillows and a low risen table, decorated with nothing other than the cut loaves and dipping oil. 

"What was that for?" Jongin asked, letting Kyungsoo help lower the tray once his hands were free.

"What was what for?"

"You took a picture of me. I wasn't even posing or doing anything."

Kyungsoo smiled and removed the strap around his neck as the other sat across from him, "You were bringing me food and coffee like a little waiter. Of course I had to take a picture." He put the camera off to the side and scooted up, legs crossed neatly under the flattop.

Jongin dipped a piece of bread, "I'm ignoring that evil comment. You also haven't even complimented my handiwork here, either. Doesn't this remind you of something?"

The first time they met, with naive glimmers and timid promises, pillows on the wooden floor, and not enough napkins. How could Kyungsoo forget something so detrimental? Something far too innocent for their story?

"No. Enlighten me." He snorted.

"You really are evil. You're going to make me say it?" Jongin returned a smile, holding the soaked bread piece between his fingers, he then held it up to hover over Kyungsoo's lips.

"Open up."

"I can feed myself."

"I know. You're indulging me, Hyung." Jongin almost whined, smiling even larger when Kyungsoo gave in, letting the model put the sponge in his mouth with a quick movement of his fingers. He then laughed at the others expression, "Is it good? I bought some generic olive oil stuff from the store. It's probably not as good as the one you got, but I hope it's okay."

"Why are you doing all of this? This hospitality stuff." Kyungsoo swallowed and stared down into the pool of oil.

"I told you already. This is a celebration. For me, and for us. I thought you'd like it, I even came up with the idea of recreating the day we became friends." He deflated in a subtle way, in a way that only Kyungsoo could catch since he watched the other so closely. The setup now seemed more cohesive, yet it was tainted by the present. When they met things were so, so different.

"I do like it. I didn't mean it like that."

"You're proud of me though, right?"

"Of course I am." Kyungsoo impulsively reached out to pat Jongin's coiled hand.

Jongin didn't look him in the eyes, even when Kyungsoo squeezed over his knuckles and ran a thumb over them in reassurance, "You're shaking."

He attempted a weak laugh, "I'm nervous hosting you at my house. That's all."

From watching the model so intently over time, he could also read Jongin's face like an open book. The slightest crease of a brow or squint of an eye could tell Kyungsoo all he needed to know, yet in times like these, Jongin's vulnerability instantly transformed before his very eyes into blankness. Into nothing literate. It was a dead giveaway to his exposure. Jongin was not sober, not completely, but the photographer just said nothing and pulled his hand away.

"Nervous?" He resumed eating like the truth wasn't just revealed by Jongin's quivering fingers.

"It's been a long time since you've been over, right? I lose track of time, but it feels like you haven't been to my apartment in ages. Months, atleast. Or is that wrong? I don't know." Jongin shook his head and lifted his mug to his lips, which were still pinned into a tight curve.

"Our friendship is..." Kyungsoo chewed on some bread until it was tasteless, "it's not conventional, is it?"

"What do you mean?"

"I don't know. It's just strange." He swallowed it and mindlessly picked up another, "Our meetings, our conversations. I feel like our dynamic is really weird."

Jongin leaned back off the pillow to put his weight onto his palms, "I've never had a conventional relationship with anyone."

"So it's you, then. Not me. Got it."

"Hey, not so fast. You're not a conventional person either. You lurk around and take pictures of things secretly, like a little goblin." He sat back up to wave his hands around in mocking, beaming genuinely.

Kyungsoo stifled a real smile of his own, "Okay, heroine chic, don't get too ahead of yourself. You admitted it first."

"What the fuck is heroine chic?"

"Heroine chic?" Kyungsoo rolled his eyes and wrapped an exasperated fist over his coffee, "It's a ultra-famous model term from like, the 90's or something. It describes the fad of being like skinny and lanky, and somewhat grungy, I guess. You really don't know?"

Jongin shrugged, "I don't know any modeling terms, I just stand around and look pretty."

"Bimbo."

"Wow. Ouch. So hostile." Jongin clutched at his chest like he got a gun wound from his words, leaning forward over the table. He was finally smiling, again. He then covered it with his coffee mug as he took another sip, "I missed hanging out with you."

Kyungsoo stilled, "Yeah."

"Yeah? That's it? Double ouch."

"All I said was yeah. I'm agreeing."

Jongin's smile fell into a relaxed line, and Kyungsoo didn't fail to notice how he had barely eaten any of the food prepared. It felt performative, like it was only for Kyungsoo and no one else, not even the one who hosted it all. For the first time, Kyungsoo looked up from the table and away from the model's gaze to observe the apartment space. Half of the furniture was missing, creating vacant spaces between walls and counters, leaving darkness instead of the old bookcase and the sofa chair. There was the record player left standing, alongside the lonesome couch that he had sat on a number of times, watching television or hearing Soojung and Jongin chatter away about god knows what. He faced him again, expression shielding the feeling of displacement.

Jongin didn't miss the way Kyungsoo fell quiet, and he immediately ran a shaky hand across his bangs, looking at the record player, "I can see you're checking out the new decorations."

"What's the inspiration?" Kyungsoo said with just as much humor, miming the way the other glanced around.

"I wanted to go for the most depressing theme I could muster. Emptiness, shallowness, complete and utter heartbreak. You like it?" Jongin batted his eyelashes and waved his hand as if he was showing off something expensive. "It's called: my girlfriend left and owned half of the furniture. It's a very common, yet organic aesthetic."

"I don't even know what to say." Kyungsoo barked out a stunned laugh, suddenly not feeling hungry either. "Are you sure you shouldn't have been a theater kid? I think you would have thrived."

"It is what it is. My life has really become just listening to my records since there's not much else to do around this miserable apartment now. And yes, being a theater kid was on my list of self exploitation, thanks for reminding me."

"You just sit in here and listen to music all day?"

"Yeah, the player and pretty much all the records were mine so I was able to keep all that stuff. It's been keeping me sane, honestly. Tchaikovsky, Prokofiev, Brahms. They've all been my personal saviors."

"They're all pianists."

"I used to be a dancer, remember?" Jongin tapped at the side of his temple, "Ballet around the living room is a good past time. You should try it."

"How are you doing with that, by the way." Kyungsoo changed the subject and took a lukewarm swig of his coffee to lube his throat, which was inevitably dry. "I feel like I should ask. No jokes this time."

"Dancing?" Jongin quirked an eyebrow.

"Soojung. Everything. You really haven't told me anything since the last time we talked. Or maybe the time before that." He corrected himself, suddenly feeling awkward as he set the mug down. It was cheap coffee. Grainy.

Jongin blinked and pursed his lips like he had to choose the next words very carefully, "We talked about it once. It was the time I came to your house and took your project home. It wasn't a great conversation if I remember correctly."

"Are any of our last conversations great?"

"When you put it like that, no." The model then stared at his lap, "I want to apologize again, actually. I feel like I honestly began to ruin our friendship once autumn ended, when me and Soojung finally broke it off, I was in a really bad place mentally. I took that out on you because at the time you were all I had, and I was angry. I was angry that it felt like you had everything and I had nothing. You didn't deserve any of that, and I'm sorry. I'm telling you sincerely now."

Kyungsoo set down his food, "Jongin..."

"I'm sorry for the kiss too. I wasn't sober then, and it wasn't the way to apologize for all the shit I put you through and I was being selfish. You were right about everything you said, and that's something I didn't forget. Hyung, I hope you can forgive me and we can be friends again. None of this mental warfare shit. I mean it. I miss going out with you and reading poetry and having you cook Korean food. I want to have that back and I don't want to fuck my relationships up anymore."

"Is that why you brought me here?"

"I, uh, well— yes." Jongin was shaking harder with each passing second, and Kyungsoo actually questioned if maybe the model really was just nervous to have him over. How much of this was Kim Jongin and how much of it was a trauma response? How much of it thoughtful sobriety? He rubbed the crumbs off over his slacks and avoided the photographers gaze, "I have a lot of things I want to say to you, but I wanted to start with that. I want to be transparent from now on. I want to get a lot better at expressing myself."

Jongin's story was one born from the discrepancy between the place of which people see themselves, and one in which where they actually are. It was a story of human weakness, of realization and the euphoric sense of delusional wishes, and Jongin had laid it out straight before the world. Like he had gutted himself and slept the eternal sleep, molded in dirt and the fear of truth. The fear of freedom. All of it was futile in the grand scheme of things, and yet—the model had a sparkle of something light behind the mocha of his eyes. A fondness, and a longing shielded by ache. Kyungsoo for once, wasn't sure if it was love or something more, and he would rather stay ignorant.

"I want to be transparent too." Kyungsoo heard himself say.

Jongin smiled a subtle smile, "I'm glad."

A number of things arose in that shared moment. Kyungsoo thought about all the words that could have fallen from his lips, what could have stuck to his tongue and floated in the air they breathed in, and what could have been something akin to vulnerability. The truth was, he was terrified. 

Tearing his gaze from the model, he fiddled with the basket and picked it up. "Well, if were not going to eat this stuff, shouldn't we clean up?"

"I guess so." Jongin replied, shutting down once more. After the flood gates opened, they were closed again. Kyungsoo watched as the other stood up and removed the leftovers from the table with a tight expression, heading directly to the kitchen and placing them into the trash. The energy was different again, always a metamorphosis that was immutable and strangling, destroying any progress of clarity the either of them had with each other in conversation. 

Kyungsoo remained on the floor with his mouth open, right on the edge of saying something else. Why was it always him? Why was he always the one who ruined the overt attempts at reconciliation? If the model had one thing over him, it was the ability to communicate. Which was kind of pathetic in hindsight. Jongin gestured over to the living room, nodding his head. "You want to move into here? Go ahead and pick out a record. Any one you want."

He stood up to join the other in the next chamber, standing awkwardly as the model flickered on a lamp and perched himself next to the record player resting against the wall, he then bent down briefly to retrieve a bin and flip through the discs like they weighed lighter than air. Dusted with visible disuse, Kyungsoo could smell the antique perfume from where he was standing. It was nostalgic, and faintly melancholy. Jongin then held the case out to him. 

"To be honest, I don't think you've ever picked out a record since you first started coming over, huh? Thats kind of a bummer, i should have been a better host. I guess i just wanted you to be impressed with my music taste, Hyung. But looking back...I should have let you pick the music at least sometimes."

Kyungsoo sat back on the couch arm and rested the records on his lap, "Your music taste is good." He shuffled the paper casings to even them out in his palms, " But not as good as mine, Kim Jongin."

"You said you wanted to be transparent, not cocky..."

"I can be both." Kyungsoo chuckled, the energy moving and swirling again; Into the red of the Paris sunsets. He raised a Blood Orange record up into the window's tinted light and smirked up at the model who was still standing. "Here."

"That was quick. You didn't even look through them all!" Jongin begrudgingly took the record from his grasp and placed it on the player, bending the needle over it accordingly. Kyungsoo wondered if Jongin had the same issue saying no. He confirmed it must be so, or else they wouldn't be here for the hundrenth time, dancing the dance of repudiation in their apartments and shared windows. As the record crackled and started its first track, Jongin turned to face him with amusement. "This is a good band, though. I guess I wont complain. I havent heard them in awhile."

Kyungsoo said nothing, continuing to brush through the rest of the vinyl. The confession from minutes ago was still haunting him, hoarding his thoughts with cloudiness and an emotional fog. He was still terrified. He could tell Jongin wanted to say more than he did. He probably wanted to demand an explanation from Kyungsoo, or push for any amount of humanity he could spare. He still wasn't bold enough to figure out who should speak first. Push and pull, push and pull, withdrawal and aching. He could see it in Jongin's eyes as the model seemed to contemplate having a cigarette by the window, his eyes scanning across the room with hardness. Without a second to spare, Kyungsoo walked back to the table and picked up his camera. 

Jongin was so beautiful. Even with the disconnect between them.

"You're beautiful."

Jongin whirled around with wide eyes, "What?"

"it's..." The photographer held his breath and lifted the camera to his eye. "The lighting is beautiful."

The model was tense as the flash went off, expression neutral, eyes and jaw locked. Kyungsoo lowered it, trying to control the completion he felt from clicking the shutter and seeing the digital version appear on the mini screen, engulfed by his palms. That was the only way Kyungsoo knew how to communicate, the only way he knew vulnerability and transparency and the lot of it. A photograph, like a song, or a poem. A poem about addiction. The record playing was like the red sunset. 

"Can I ask you something?" Jongin suddenly asked.

"Hm?"

"Are you...seeing that one guy?"

Kyungsoo looked up and made a face, "What guy?"

"The one with the nice clothes, he's Korean too." The model focused back on the horizon, choosing not the make eye contact as he spoke. He had that kind of fearfulness that didn't look natural on him, like a mask. "I see him walk past the building a lot..."

Junmyeon. He was talking about Junmyeon. "Oh." Kyungsoo said, not entirely sure on how to reply to something like that. What was Junmyeon? A man who fell victim to the same heartache and solitary fray, and assuredly a man who deserved better. He studied Jongin as he swayed gently to the R&B, probably as a self soothing tactic. "We were talking, but it didn't go past that."

He perked up, "Why not?"

"He's really nice, and honestly was there for me when I wasn't doing good, but I just couldn't date him. I think I was..." Kyungsoo had to remember to be honest, now. To be open in his faults. He leaned back onto the couch, "I was kind of using him because I was lonely. He didn't deserve that, but it happened. I'm not proud."

_I was looking for you in him. I was trying to mold him into a new muse._

Jongin was quiet again and then moved to the window, walking across the space to continue the conversation at the opening. His hair was longer now, and the sky made it look like it had a halo of fire. Kyungsoo got up and followed him, standing a generous distance away. "I still have to apologize to him. What I did to him was...fucked up. I was at a low point at the end of the year."

"I get that more than anyone. I was at a really low place too." The latter muttered into the brisk air, mainly to himself. He was wearing the jacket he retrieved from Kyungsoo's apartment and he peered down to fish the carton out, opening it to count the cigarettes poking upwards. "I was surprised you guys clicked so fast...considering the fact you told me it was nearly impossible to make friends here. I guess little shy Soo isn't as shy as he seems." He said the last part with a small smirk, barely caught by the light.

"I mean, he approached me first, so I don't know if I did much of the initiating." Kyungsoo hung back, facing Jongin's back as he clicked through his camera gallery in subliminal fixation. The pictures moved backwards from Jongin, to Jongin with the plate, to some of his project works. He kept pressing until another familiar face appeared, taking him by internal surprise. It was Junmyeon, staring in neutrality, stiff as a tree in front of the flash. Guilt swarmed him and buzzed in his head. Junmyeon was a victim in an emotional carousel, a ride only meant to be ridden by Kyungsoo, and maybe, Jongin. "Weirdly, I felt like we were alike. Despite him being so much more open than me." 

"How so?"

"I felt like he was desperately looking for a reason to stay here. Like a purpose, or any kind of inspiration. He's living here for some boring finance job, and I could tell it drained the fuck out of him. I think he was hoping I could give him some peace." Kyungsoo let the words gush out, and clicked mindlessly through the rest of the pictures though he was barely paying attention to them. "Or maybe it wasn't peace, it was some kind of excitement. Someone or something to make him feel alive. He seemed like he was almost down to be mistreated...if it meant he was wanted in any way."

Jongin lit one of the sticks before the photographer knew it, and silently sucked at the filter for a moment as he stared outside. He then turned around the rested his lower back on the weald, angled like the graceful branches of a tree against the choleric luster. His face was twisted into an expression of preclude, plush lips circled to let the smoke fall out and fill the air with the prosaic scent. He compelled Kyungsoo's fingers to hover over the capture button.

"So, you feel like that applies to you too?" He asked.

"I guess I do." Kyungsoo gazed up and met his eyes, and it felt like the first time their gazes had actually met tonight. He could almost read the unsaid confessions in Jongin's iris's. The terror was back, but conviluded with the desire to begin a photoshoot. He suppressed it to join the other at the window. "Remember when you asked me if I had a muse?"

"That was awhile ago."

"Well, I remember. I never forgot it. It was the first time anyone asked me that besides some of my teachers. It really made me think about why I came here." He continued, curling into himself. It was much colder at the opening. "My family and friends thought it was because of the scenery, or the romance of France. They thought I was nearly insane for applying to art schools so far from Korea, and at the same I wasn't even sure why I did it either. I thought it was because of the buildings, or the food, or the museums. The tourist-y stuff looks really great when you've never been. So when I got here, I went exploring and did all the things I wanted to do. I took pics of all the things I wanted to capture, but it didn't...work."

Jongin listened, gaze heavy in the corner of Kyungsoo's view as he spoke. He felt himself begin to shiver, and he wasn't sure if it was the weather, or the absolute nightmare of spilling his angst out. He swallowed and went on, "I realized it was because I was lonely. And uninspired. Paris was just like Seoul, because I moved here with a lack of direction. I think when you..." He stopped. He was shaking, and it felt like he couldn't ever stop.

A sensation of warmth was cast over him then, as Jongin returned the infamous jacket and blanketed it over his shoulders. It reeked of smoke now, but also like a version of home. He tightened it around his torso and tried to remain composed, even though he was shivering for a different reason now. The other, as if he sensed every thought the photographer had, rested a long arm over his back and held it there. It was insanely intimate, and yet appropriate. This was the most honest they could be, for now. It felt right. It was okay.

"When you and Soojung..." Kyungsoo licked his lips, "Well, _you_. When you came into my life I think for the first time I had found a real friend here. A friend and...a muse. You really inspired me, and I think it made me a little bit selfish in the way I went about it. You were like a concept to me, but also someone too real. I want to apologize for...being the way I was. I was insensitive to your struggles. I said a lot of shitty things. When Chanyeol came over, there was a lot of baggage there and I handled it really poorly. I ended up losing him for awhile too, because of that. You asked me earlier what that phone call was about...it was because of you. And me."

The stars glimmered in the hazy distance as Jongin held him, breathing fire and looking directly at his face. His eyes grazed over Kyungsoo's eyelashes, his nose and parted lips, always picking him apart with sharpness and weary boldness. "I said before I never had any conventional relationships." The model finally uttered something other than fumes, "But...this is one that I think is really worth it. If you'd...wait with me."

As Kyungsoo leaned into his unsteady, tremoring touch, he knew what the latter meant. Kyungsoo really couldn't ever say no.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey LOL a lot of time skips and crisis's :) Im planning on making this series a little bit long to show the trials of toxic people in love. Yeah. Stay tuned?

**Author's Note:**

> ~ Hey, this is my first fic and its pretty bad so, uh, yeah. I had fun writing it and i wanted it to be a little different from usual fanfiction by having the whole story be from Kyungsoo's point of view. Every character is based off of his view of them, and how he either idolizes them or villianizes them. Every part of his perspective plays into how he sees himself and his artwork. Everything is tied together. :) It is very slow burn and its focused more on the emotional and psychological aspects to Kyungsoo's selfishness, and how he deflects onto the broken people around him. I'm making it sound cooler than it is. Anyways, it was just a fun little thing <3 It will be continued once i feel like it and get off my ass. - the stupid author. ~


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